IN   THE   BROODING  WILD 


Works  of 

Ridgwell  Cullum 
«$» 

The  Story  of  the  Foss  Rive* 

Ranch  $1.50 

The  Hound  from  the  North    J,50 
In  the  Brooding  Wild  .1.50 


L.  C  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

New  England  Building 

Boston,  Mass. 


"THERE    IS    NO    MOVEMENT   IN   THE   SAVAGE    BODY   BUT 
THE    FURIOUS,    NOISELESS    LASHING    OF  THE    TAIL" 

(See  page  244) 


In  the  Brooding 
Wild 


By 
Ridgwell   Cullum 

Author  of  "The  Story  of  the  Foss  River 

Ranch,"  "  The  Hound  from  the 

North,"  etc. 

With  a  Frontispiece  by 

Charles  Livingston  Bull 


Boston    *    L.    C.    Page    & 
Company      *       Publishers 


Copyright,  1905 
BY  L.  C.  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

(INCORPORATED) 
All  rights  reserved 


Published  May,  1905 

Second  Impression,  April,  1907 

Third  Impression,  April,  1909 


COLONIAL  PRESS 

Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  C.  H.  Simonds  <5r»  Co. 
Boston,  U.S.A. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.    ON  THE  MOUNTAINSIDE i 

II.  WHICH  TELLS  OF  THE  WHITE  SQUAW  .        .       15 

III.  THE  QUEST  OF  THE  WHITE  SQUAW       .        .      34 

IV.  THE  HOODED  MAN 55 

V.    THE  WHITE  SQUAW 79 

VI.  THE  WEIRD  OF  THE  WILD      ....      93 

VII.  IN  THE  STORMING  NIGHT        .        .        .        .112 

VIII.  THE  UNQUENCHABLE  FIRE      .        .        .        .130 

IX.     To  THE  DEATH 142 

X.  THE  BATTLE  IN  THE  WILD     .        .        .        .157 

XI.  THE  GATHERING  OF  THE  FOREST  LEGIONS    .     174 

XII.  WHERE  THE  LAWS  OF  MIGHT  ALONE  PREVAIL     188 

XIII.  OUT  ON  THE  NORTHLAND  TRAIL    .        .        .213 

XIV.  WHO    SHALL    FATHOM    THE    DEPTHS    OF   A 

WOMAN'S  LOVE? 228 

XV.  THE  TRAGEDY  OF  THE  WILD         •        .        .    239 


IN    THE    BROODING 
WILD 


CHAPTER   I. 

ON    THE   MOUNTAINSIDE 

To  the  spirit  which  broods  over  the  stupendous 
solitudes  of  the  northern  Rockies,  the  soul  of  man, 
with  all  its  complex  impulses,  is  but  so  much  plastic 
material  which  it  shapes  tO'its  own  inscrutable  ends. 
For  the  man  whose  lot  is  cast  in  the  heart  of  these 
wilds,  the  drama  of  life  usually  moves  with  a  tre- 
mendous simplicity  toward  the  sudden  and  sombre 
tragedy  of  the  last  act.  The  titanic  world  in  which 
he  lives  closes  in  upon  him  and  makes  him  its  own. 
For  him,  among  the  ancient  watch-towers  of  the 
earth,  the  innumerable  interests  and  activities  of 
swarming  cities,  the  restless  tides  and  currents  of 
an  eager  civilization,  take  on  the  remoteness  of  a 
dream.  The  peace  or  war  of  nations  is  less  to  him 


2  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

than  the  battles  of  Wing  and  Fur.  His  interests  are 
all  in  that  world  over  which  he  seeks  to  rule  by  the 
law  of  trap  and  gun,  and  in  the  war  of  defence 
which  he  wages  against  the  aggression  of  the  ele- 
ments. He  returns  insensibly  to  the  type  of  the 
primitive  man,  strong,  patient,  and  enduring. 

High  up  on  the  mountainside,  overlooking  a  val- 
ley so  deep  and  wide  as  to  daze  the  brain  of  the 
gazing  human,  stands  a  squat  building.  It  seems 
to  have  been  crushed  into  the  slope  by  the  driving 
force  of  the  vicious  mountain  storms  to  which  it 
is  open  on  three  sides.  There  is  no  shelter  for  it. 
It  stands  out  bravely  to  sunshine  and  storm  alike 
with  the  contemptuous  indifference  of  familiarity. 
It  is  a  dugout,  and,  as  its  name  implies,  is  built  half 
in  the  ground.  Its  solitary  door  and  single  parch- 
ment-covered window  overlook  the  valley,  and  the 
white  path  in  front*  where  the  snow  is  packed  hard 
by  the  tramp  of  dogs  and  men,  and  the  runners  of 
the  dog-sled.  Below  the  slope  bears  away  to  the 
woodlands.  Above  the  hut  the  overshadowing 
mountain  rises  to  dazzling  heights;  and  a  further, 
but  thin,  belt  of  primeval  forest  extends  up,  up, 
until  the  eternal  snows  are  reached  and  the  air  will 
no  longer  support  life.  Even  to  the  hardy  hunters, 
whose  home  this  is,  those  upper  forests  are  sealed 
chapters  in  Nature's  story. 


ON  THE  MOUNTAINSIDE  3 

Below  the  dugout,  and  beyond  the  valley,  lie  count- 
less lesser  hills,  set  so  closely  that  their  divisions  are 
lost  in  one  smooth,  dark  expanse  of  forest.  Black- 
ened rifts  are  visible  here  and  there,  but  they  have 
little  meaning,  and  only  help  to  materialize  what 
would  otherwise  wear  an  utterly  ghostly  appearance. 
The  valley  in  front  is  so  vast  that  its  contemplation 
from  the  hillside  sends  a  shudder  of  fear  through 
the  heart.  It  is  dark,  dreadfully  dark  and  gloomy, 
although  the  great  stretch  of  pine  forest,  which 
reaches  to  its  uttermost  confines,  bears  upon  its 
drooping  branches  the  white  coat  of  winter. 

The  valley  is  split  by  a  river,  now  frozen  to  its 
bed.  But,  from  the  hut  door,  the  rift  which  marks 
its  course  in  the  dark  carpet  cannot  be  seen. 

In  the  awesome  view  no  life  is  revealed.  The 
forests  shadow  the  earth  and  every  living  thing  upon 
it,  and  where  the  forest  is  not  there  lies  the  snow 
to  the  depth  of  many  feet.  It  is  a  scene  of  solemn 
grandeur,  over  which  broods  silence  and  illimitable 
space. 

Out  of  the  deathly  stillness  comes  a  long-drawn 
sigh.  It  echoes  down  the  hillside  like  the  weary  ex- 
pression of  patient  suffering  from  some  poor  crea- 
ture imprisoned  where  ancient  glacier  and  ever- 
lasting snows  hold  place.  It  passes  over  the 
low-pitched  roof  of  the  dugout,  it  plays  about  the 


4  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

angles  and  under  the  wide  reaching  eaves.  It  sets 
the  door  creaking  with  a  sound  that  startles  the 
occupants.  It  passes  on  and  forces  its  way  through 
the  dense,  complaining  forest  trees.  The  opposi- 
tion it  receives  intensifies  its  plaint,  and  it  rushes 
angrily  through  the  branches.  Then,  for  awhile, 
all  is  still  again.  But  the  coming  of  that  breath 
from  the  mountain  top  has  made  a  difference  in  the 
outlook.  Something  strange  has  happened.  One 
looks  about  and  cannot  tell  what  it  is.  It  may  be 
that  the  air  is  colder ;  it  may  be  that  the  daylight  has 
changed  its  tone;  it  may  be  that  the  sunlit  scene  is 
changed  as  the  air  fills  with  sparkling,  diamond 
frost  particles.  Something  has  happened. 

Suddenly  a  dismal  howl  splits  the  air,  and  its 
echoes  intensify  the  gloom.  Another  howl  succeeds 
it,  and  then  the  weird  cry  is  taken  up  by  other 
voices. 

And  ere  the  echoes  die  out  another  breath  comes 
down  from  the  hilltop,  a  breath  less  patient ;  angry 
with  a  biting  fierceness  which  speaks  of  patience 
exhausted  and  a  spirit  of  retaliation. 

It  catches  up  the  loose  snow  as  it  comes  and  hurls 
it  defiantly  at  every  obstruction  with  the  viciousness 
of  an  exasperated  woman.  Now  it  shakes  the  dug- 
out, and,  as  it  passes  on,  shrieks  invective  at  the 
world  over  which  it  rushes,  and  everything  it  touches 


ON  THE  MOUNTAINSIDE  5 

feels  the  bitter  lash  of  the  whipping  snow  it  bears 
upon  its  bosom.  Again  come  the  strange  howls  of 
the  animal  world,  but  they  sound  more  distant  and 
the  echoes  are  muffled,  for  those  who  cry  out  have 
sought  the  woodland  shelter,  where  the  mountain 
breath  exhausts  itself  against  the  countless  legions 
of  the  pines. 

Ere  the  shriek  has  died  out,  another  blast  comes 
down  the  mountainside,  and  up  rises  the  fine-pow- 
dered snow  like  a  thin  fog.  From  the  valley  a  rush 
of  wind  comes  up  to  meet  it,  and  the  two  battle  for 
supremacy.  While  the  conflict  rages  fresh  clouds 
of  snow  rise  in  other  directions  and  rush  to  the 
scene  of  action.  Encountering  each  other  on  the 
way  they  struggle  together,  each  intolerant  of  inter- 
ference, until  the  shrieking  is  heard  on  every  hand, 
and  the  snow  fog  thickens,  and  the  dull  sun  above 
grows  duller,  and  the  lurid  "  sun  dogs  "  look  like 
evil  coals  of  fire  burning  in  the  sky. 

Now,  from  every  direction,  the  wind  tears  along 
in  a  mad  fury.  The  forest  tops  sway  as  with  the 
roll  of  some  mighty  sea  swept  by  the  sudden  blast 
of  a  tornado.  In  the  rage  of  the  storm  the  woodland 
giants  creak  out  their  impotent  protests.  The  wind 
battles  and  tears  at  everything,  there  is  no  cessation 
in  its  onslaught. 

And  as  the  fight  waxes  the  fog  rises  and  a  grey 


6  IN  THE  BROODING  WILD 

darkness  settles  over  the  valley.  The  forest  is 
hidden,  the  hills  are  gone,  the  sun  is  obscured,  and 
a  fierce  desolation  reigns.  Darker  and  darker  it 
becomes  as  the  blizzard  gains  force.  And  the  cries 
of  the  forest  beasts  add  to  the  chaos  and  din  of  the 
mountain  storm. 

The  driving  cold  penetrates,  with  the  bite  of 
invisible  arrows,  to  the  interior  of  the  dugout.  The 
two  men  who  sit  within  pile  up  the  fuel  in  the  box 
stove  which  alone  makes  life  possible  for  them  in 
such  weather.  The  roof  groans  and  bends  be- 
neath the  blast.  Under  the  rattling  door  a  thin 
carpet  of  snow  has  edged  its  way  in,  while  through 
the  crack  above  it  a  steady  rain  of  moisture  falls 
as  the  snow  encounters  the  rising  heat  of  the  stifling 
atmosphere. 

"  I  knew  it  'ud  come,  Nick/'  observed  one  of  the 
men,  as  he  shut  the  stove,  after  carefully  packing 
several  cord-wood  sticks  within  its  insatiable  maw. 

He  was  of  medium  height  but  of  large  muscle. 
His  appearance  was  that  of  a  man  in  the  prime  of 
life.  His  hair,  above  a  face  tanned  and  lined  by  ex- 
posure to  the  weather,  was  long  and  grey,  as  was 
the  beard  which  curled  about  his  chin.  He  was  clad 
in  a  shirt  of  rough-tanned  buckskin  and  trousers  of 
thick  moleskin.  His  feet  were  shod  with  moccasins 


ON  THE.  MOUNTAINSIDE  7 

which  were  brilliantly  beaded.  Similar  bead-work 
adorned  the  front  of  the  weather-proof  shirt. 

His  companion  was  a  slightly  younger  and  some- 
what larger  man.  The  resemblance  he  bore  to  his 
comrade  indicated  the  relationship  between  them. 
They  were  brothers. 

Ralph  and  Nicol  Westley  were  born  and  bred  in 
that  dugout.  Their  father  and  mother  were  long 
since  dead,  dying  in  the  harness  of  the  toil  they  had 
both  loved,  and  which  they  bequeathed  to  their 
children.  These  two  men  had  never  seen  the  prairie. 
They  had  never  left  their  mountain  fastnesses. 
They  had  never  even  gone  south  to  where  the  rail- 
way bores  its  way  through  the  Wild. 

They  had  been  born  to  the  life  of  the  trapper 
and  knew  no  other.  They  lived  and  enjoyed  their 
lives,  for  they  were  creatures  of  Nature  who  under- 
stood and  listened  when  she  spoke.  They  had  no 
other  education.  The  men  lived  together  har- 
moniously, practically  independent  of  all  other 
human  companionship. 

At  long  intervals,  when  pelts  had  accumulated 
and  supplies  had  run  low,  they  visited  the  cabin 
of  an  obscure  trader.  Otherwise  they  were  cut  off 
from  the  world  and  rejoiced  in  their  isolation. 

"  Yes,  we've  had  the  warnin'  this  week  past,"  re- 
joined Nick  solemnly,  as  he  affectionately  polished 


8  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

the  butt  of  his  rifle  with  a  rag  greased  with  bear's 
fat.  "  Them  '  patch  '  winds  at  sunrise  an'  sunset 
ain't  sent  fer  nothin'.  I  'lows  Hell's  hard  on  the 
heels  o'  this  breeze.  When  the  wind  quits  there'll 
be  snow,  an'  snow  means  us  bein'  banked  in.  Say, 
she's  boomin'.  Hark  to  her.  You  can  hear  her 
tearin'  herself  loose  from  som'eres  up  on  the  hill- 
tops." 

Nick  looked  round  the  hut  as  though  expecting 
to  see  the  storm  break  through  the  walls  of  their 
shelter.  A  heavy  storm  always  affected  the  super- 
stitious side  of  these  men's  natures.  A  blizzard  to 
them  was  as  the  Evil  Spirit  of  the  mountains.  They 
always  possessed  the  feeling,  somewhere  deep  down 
in  their  hearts,  that  the  attack  of  a  storm  was 
directed  against  them.  And  the  feeling  was  a  mute 
acknowledgment  that  they  were  interlopers  in 
Nature's  most  secret  haunts. 

Ralph  had  planted  himself  upon  an  upturned 
bucket,  and  sat  with  his  hands  thrust  out  towards 
the  stove.  He  was  smoking,  and  his  eyes  were 
directed  in  a  pensive  survey  at  a  place  where  the 
black  iron  of  the  stove  was  steadily  reddening. 

Presently  he  looked  up. 

"  Ha'  ye  fed  the  dogs,  lad? "  he  asked. 

"  Ay." 

The  two  relapsed  into  silence.     The  creaking  of 


ON  THE,  MOUNTAINSIDE  9 

the  hut  was  like  the  protest  of  a  wooden  ship  riding 
a  heavy  storm  at  sea.  The  men  shifted  their  posi- 
tions with  every  fresh  burst  which  struck  their 
home;  it  was  as  though  they  personally  felt  each 
shock,  and  their  bones  ached  with  the  strain  of 
battle.  The  smoke  curled  up  slowly  from  Ralph's 
pipe  and  a  thin  cloud  hovered  just  beneath  the  roof. 
The  red  patch  on  the  stove  widened  and  communi- 
cated itself  to  the  stovepipe.  Presently  the  trapper 
leaned  forward,  and,  closing  the  damper,  raked  away 
the  ashes  with  a  chip  of  wood. 

Nick  looked  up  and  laid  his  gun  aside,  and,  rising, 
stepped  over  to  the  stove. 

"  Makes  ye  feel  good  to  hear  the  fire  roar  in*  when 
it's  stormin'  bad.  Ther'  ain't  no  tellin'  when  this'll 
let  up."  He  jerked  his  head  backward  to  imply  the 
storm. 

"  It's  sharp.  Mighty  sharp,"  replied  his  brother. 
"Say  —  " 

He  broke  off  and  bent  his  head  in  an  attitude  of 
keen  attention.  He  held  his  pipe  poised  in  his 
right  hand,  whilst  his  eyes  focused  themselves  on 
a  side  of  bacon  which  hung  upon  the  wall. 

Nick  had  turned  towards  the  door.  His  attitude 
was  intent  also ;  he,  too,  was  listening  acutely. 

The  howling  elements  continued  to  beat  furiously 
upon  the  house  and  the  din  was  appalling,  but  these 


IO  IN  THE  BROODING   WILD 

two  men,  keen-eared,  trained  to  the  life  of  their 
mountains,  had  heard  a  sound  which  was  not  the 
storm,  nor  of  the  forest  creatures  doling  their  woful 
cries  beneath  the  shelter  of  the  woods. 

Slowly  Ralph's  eyes  moved  from  the  bacon  and 
passed  over  the  smoke  stained  wooden  wall  of  the 
hut.  Nor  did  they  pause  again  until  they  looked 
into  the  eyes  of  his  brother.  Here  they  fixed  them- 
selves and  the  working  brains  of  the  two  men 
seemed  to  communicate  one  with  the  other.  Neither 
of  them  was  likely  to  be  mistaken.  To  hear  a  sound 
in  those  wilds  was  to  recognize  it  unerringly. 

"  A  cry,"  said  Nick. 

"  Some  'un  out  in  the  storm,"  replied  Ralph. 

"  A  neche." 

Ralph  shook  his  head. 

"  A  neche  would  'a'  know'd  this  was  comin'. 
He'd  'a'  made  camp.  Tain't  a  neche.  Hark !  " 

The  beat  of  the  storm  seemed  to  drown  all  other 
sounds,  and  yet  those  two  men  listened.  It  is  cer- 
tain that  what  they  heard  would  have  been  lost  to 
most  ears. 

Ralph  rose  deliberately.  There  was  no  haste,  nor 
was  there  any  hesitation.  His  intention  was  writ- 
ten on  his  face. 

"  The  life-line,"  he  said  briefly. 

Out  into  the  awful  storm  the  two  men  plunged 


ON  THE  MOUNTAINSIDE  II 

a  few  moments  later.  There  was  no  thought  of 
their  own  comfort  in  their  minds.  They  had  heard 
a  cry  —  the  cry  of  a  human  being,  and  they  were 
prepared  to  lend  such  aid  as  lay  in  their  power. 
They  did  not  pause  to  wonder  at  a  voice  other  than 
their  own  in  those  regions.  Some  one  was  caught 
in  the  storm,  and  they  knew  that  such  a  disaster 
meant  certain  death  to  the  poor  wretch  if  they  did 
not  go  to  the  rescue.  The  terror  of  the  blizzard 
was  expressed  in  the  significant  words  Ralph  had 
uttered.  Even  these  hardy  men  of  the  wild  dared 
not  venture  beyond  their  door  without  the  life- 
line which  was  always  kept  handy. 

With  their  furs  covering  every  part  of  them  but 
their  eyes  and  noses  they  plunged  into  the  fog  of 
blinding  snow.  They  could  see  nothing  around 
them  —  they  could  not  even  see  their  own  feet. 
Each  gripped  a  long  pole,  and  used  his  other  hand 
to  grasp  the  line. 

They  moved  down  the  beaten  path  with  certain 
step.  Three  yards  from  the  dugout  and  the  house 
was  obscured.  The  wind  buffeted  them  from  every 
direction,  and  they  were  forced  to  bend  their  heads 
in  order  to  keep  their  eyes  open. 

The  whole  attack  of  the  wind  now  seemed  to 
centre  round  those  two  struggling  human  creatures. 
It  is  the  way  of  the  blizzard.  It  blows  apparently 


12  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

from  every  direction,  and  each  obstacle  in  its 
chaotic  path  becomes  the  special  object  of  its  on- 
slaught. 

A  forceful  gust,  too  sudden  to  withstand,  would 
drive  them,  blind,  groping,  from  their  path;  and 
a  moment  later  they  would  be  hurled  like  shuttle- 
cocks in  the  opposite  direction.  They  staggered 
under  the  burden  of  the  storm,  and  groped  for  the 
solid  foothold  of  the  track  with  their  poles;  and 
so  they  slowly  gained  their  way. 

Their  strenuous  life  had  rendered  them  uncom- 
plaining, and  they  laboured  in  silence.  No  emer- 
gency but  they  were  ready  to  meet  with  a  prompt- 
ness that  was  almost  automatic.  A  slip  upon  the 
declining  path  and  the  fall  was  checked  by  the  aid 
of  the  poles  which  both  men  used  as  skilfully  as 
any  guide  upon  the  Alps.  These  contests  with  the 
elements  were  as  much  a  part  of  their  lives  as  were 
their  battles  with  the  animal  world. 

After  awhile  Ralph  halted;  he  thrust  his  pole 
deep  into  the  snow  and  held  his  position  by  its 
aid.  Then,  throwing  up  his  head,  as  might  any 
wolf,  he  opened  his  throat  and  uttered  a  prolonged 
cry.  It  rose  high  above  the  storm  in  a  manner 
which  only  the  cry  of  a  mountain  or  forest  bred 
man  can.  It  rushed  forth  borne  unwillingly  upon 
the  shrieking  wind,  and  its  sound  almost  instantly 


ON  THE- MOUNTAINSIDE  13 

died  out  of  the  ears  of  the  sender.  But  the  men 
knew  it  was  travelling.  Nick  followed  his  brother's 
example,  and  then  Ralph  gave  out  the  mountain 
call  again. 

Then  they  waited,  listening.  A  sound,  faint  and 
far  off,  came  in  answer  to  their  cries.  It  was  the 
human  cry  they  had  heard  before. 

Ralph  moved  forward  with  Nick  hard  upon  his 
heels.  The  line  "  paid  out,"  and  the  points  of  the 
poles  sought  the  hard  earth  beneath  the  snow.  They 
gained  their  way  in  spite  of  the  storm,  foot  by  foot, 
yard  by  yard.  And,  at  short  intervals,  they  paused 
and  sent  their  cries  hurtling  upon  the  vicious  wind. 
And  to  every  cry  came  an  answer,  and  every  answer 
sounded  nearer. 

They  were  on  the  only  open  track  in  the  valley, 
and  both  men  knew  that  whoever  was  out  in  that 
storm  must  be  somewhere  upon  it.  Therefore  they 
kept  on. 

"  The  line's  gettin'  heavy,"  said  Nick  presently. 

"  It's  only  a  little  further,"  replied  Ralph. 

"  By  the  weight  o'  the  line,  I  reckon  ther'  ain't 
more'n  fifty  feet  more." 

"  Maybe  it'll  be  'nough." 

And  Ralph  was  right. 

Ten  yards  further  on  they  almost  fell  over  a  dark 
mass  lying  in  the  snow.  It  was  a  huddled  heap, 


14  IN   THE   BROODING    WILD 

as  of  a  creature  striving  to  shut  out  the  attack 
of  the  storm.  It  was  the  attitude  of  one  whose 
heart  quails  with  dread.  It  was  the  attitude  of 
one,  who,  in  possession  of  all  his  faculties  and 
strength,  lies  down  to  die.  Rank  cowardice  was  in 
that  fur-clad  figure,  and  the  cries  for  help  were  as 
the  weeping  of  a  fear-filled  soul. 

Ralph  was  down  upon  his  knees  in  a  moment,  and 
all  that  the  still  figure  conveyed  was  at  once  appar- 
ent to  him.  His  hand  fell  heavily  upon  the  man's 
shoulder,  and  he  turned  him  over  to  look  at  his 
face. 

The  victim  of  the  storm  groaned ;  as  yet  he  was 
unable  to  realize  that  help  was  at  hand.  Then,  after 
several  rough  shakes,  his  head  emerged  from  the 
folds  of  an  enormous  storm-collar. 

As  he  looked  up  at  the  faces  bending  over  him 
the  two  trappers  uttered  exclamations. 

"  It's  the  trader!  "  said  Ralph. 

"  Victor  Gagnon !  "  exclaimed  Nick. 


CHAPTER   II. 

WHICH    TELLS   OF   THE   WHITE   SQUAW 

THE  stormy  day  was  followed  by  an .  equally 
stormy  night.  Inside  the  dugout  it  was  possible, 
in  a  measure,  to  forget  the  terrors  of  the  blizzard 
raging  outside.  The  glowing  stove  threw  out  its 
comforting  warmth,  and  even  the  rank  yellow  light 
of  the  small  oil  lamp,  which  was  suspended  from 
one  of  the  rafters,  gave  a  cheering  suggestion  of 
comfort  to  the  rough  interior.  Besides,  there  were 
within  food  and  shelter  and  human  association, 
and  the  mind  of  man  is  easily  soothed  into  a  feeling 
of  security  by  such  surroundings. 

The  trappers  had  brought  the  rescued  trader  to 
the  shelter  of  their  humble  abode;  they  had  re- 
freshed him  with  warmth  and  good  food;  they 
had  given  him  the  comfort  of  a  share  of  their 
blankets,  the  use  of  their  tobacco,  all  the  hospitality 
they  knew  how  to  bestow. 

The  three  men  were  ranged  round  the  room  in 
various  attitudes  of  repose.  All  were  smoking 


1 6  IN  THE  BROODING   WILD 

heavily.  On  the  top  of  the  stove  stood  a  tin  billy 
full  to  the  brim  of  steaming  coffee,  the  scent  of 
which,  blending  with  the  reek  of  strong  tobacco, 
came  soothingly  to  their  nostrils. 

Victor  Gagnon  was  lying  full  length  upon  a  pile 
of  outspread  blankets.  His  face  was  turned  towards 
the  stove,  and  his  head  was  supported  upon  one 
hand.  He  looked  none  the  worse  for  his  adventure 
in  the  storm.  He  was  a  small,  dark  man  of  the 
superior  French  half-breed  class.  He  had  a  narrow, 
ferret  face  which  was  quite  good  looking  in  a  mean 
small  way.  He  was  clean  shaven,  .and  wore  his 
straight  black  hair  rather  long.  His  clothes,  now 
he  had  discarded  his  furs,  showed  to  be  of  orthodox 
type,  and  quite  unlike  those  of  his  hosts.  He  was 
a  trader  who  kept  a  store  away  to  the  northeast 
of  the  dugout.  He  worked  in  connection  with  one 
of  the  big  fur  companies  of  the  East,  as  an  agent 
for  the  wholesale  house  dealing  directly  with  trap- 
pers and  Indians. 

This  was  the  man  with  whom  the  Westleys 
traded,  and  they  were  truly  glad  that  chance  had 
put  it  in  their  power  to  befriend  him.  Their  asso- 
ciations with  him,  although  chiefly  of  a  business 
nature,  were  decidedly  friendly. 

Now  they  were  listening  to  his  slow,  quiet, 
thoughtful  talk.  He  was  a  man  who  liked  talking, 


WHICH  TELLS ,  OF  THE    WHITE  SQUAW        I? 

but  he  always  contrived  that  his  audience  should 
be  those  who  gave  information.  These  two  back- 
woodsmen, simple  as  the  virgin  forests  to  which 
they  belonged,  were  not  keen  enough  to  observe 
this.  Victor  Gagnon  understood  such  men  well. 
His  life  had  been  made  up  of  dealings  with  the 
mountain  world  and  those  who  peopled  it. 

Nick,  large  and  picturesque,  sat  tailor-fashion  on 
his  blankets,  facing  the  glowing  stove  with  the  un- 
blinking, thoughtful  stare  of  a  large  dog.  Ralph 
was  less  luxurious.  He  was  propped  upon  his  up- 
turned bucket,  near  enough  to  the  fire  to  dispense 
the  coffee  without  rising  from  his  seat. 

"  Yup.  It's  a  long  trail  for  a  man  to  make  trav- 
ellin'  light  an'  on  his  lone,"  Victor  was  saying, 
while  his  black  eyes  flashed  swiftly  upon  his  com- 
panions. "  It's  not  a  summer  picnic,  I  guess. 
Maybe  you're  wonderin'  what  I  come  for." 

He  ceased  speaking  as  a  heavy  blast  shook  the 
roof,  and  set  the  lamp  swinging  dangerously. 

"  We're  good  an'  pleased  to  see  you  —  "  began 
Ralph,  in  his  deliberate  way;  but  Victor  broke  in 
upon  him  at  once. 

"  O'  course  you  are.  It's  like  you  an'  Nick  there 
to  feel  that  way.  But  human  natur's  human  natur', 
an'  maybe  som'eres  you  are  jest  wonderin'  what 
brought  me  along.  Anyway,  I  come  with  a  red- 


1 8  IN  THE  BROODING   WILD 

hot  purpose.  Gee!  but  it's  blowin'.  I  ain't  like 
to  forget  this  storm."  Gagnon  shuddered  as  he 
thought  of  his  narrow  escape. 

"  Say,"  he  went  on,  with  an  effort  at  playfulness. 
"  You  two  boys  are  pretty  deep  —  pretty  deep." 
He  repeated  himself  reflectively.  "  An'  you  seem 
so  easy  and  free,  too.  I  do  allow  I'd  never  'a' 
thought  it.  Ha,  ha!" 

He  turned  a  smiling  face  upon  his  two  friends 
and  looked  quizzically  from  one  to  the  other.  His 
look  was  open,  but  behind  it  shone  something  else. 
There  was  a  hungriness  in  his  sharp,  black  eyes 
which  would  have  been  observed  by  any  one  other 
than  these  two  backwoodsmen. 

"  You  allus  was  a  bit  fancy  in  your  way  o* 
speakin',  Victor,"  observed  Nick,  responding  to  the 
man's  grin.  "  Hit  the  main  trail,  man.  We  ain't 
good  at  guessin'." 

Ralph  had  looked  steadily  at  the  trader  while  he 
was  speaking;  now  he  turned  slowly  and  poured 
out  three  pannikins  of  coffee.  D"uring  the  opera- 
tion he  turned  his  visitor's  words  over  in  his  mind 
and  something  of  their  meaning  came  to  him.  He 
passed  a  tin  to  each  of  the  others  and  sipped  medi- 
tatively from  his  own,  while  his  eyes  became  fixed 
upon  the  face  of  the  half-breed. 

"  Ther'  was  some  fine  pelts  in  that  last  parcel 


WHICH  TELLS,  OF  THE    WHITE  SQUAW        19 

o'  furs  you  brought  along,"  continued  Victor. 
"  Three  black  foxes.  But  your  skins  is  always  the 
best  I  get." 

Ralph  nodded  over  his  coffee,  whilst  he  added 
his  other  hand  to  the  support  of  the  tin.  Nick 
watched  his  brother  a  little  anxiously.  He,  too, 
felt  uneasy. 

"  It's  cur'us  that  you  git  more  o'  them  black  pelts 
around  here  than  anybody  else  higher  up  north. 
You're  a  sight  better  hunters  than  any  durned 
neche  on  the  Peace  River.  An'  them  hides  is 
worth  more'n  five  times  their  weight  in  gold. 
You're  makin'  a  pile  o'  bills.  Say,  you  keep  them 
black  pelts  snug  away  wi'  other  stuff  o'  value." 

Gagnon  paused  and  took  a  deep  draught  at  his 
coffee. 

"  Say,"  he  went  on,  with  a  knowing  smile.  "  I 
guess  them  black  foxes  lived  in  a  gold  mine  —  " 

He  broke  off  and  watched  the  effect  of  his  words. 
The  others  kept  silence,  only  their  eyes  betrayed 
them.  The  smoke  curled  slowly  up  from  their 
pipes  and  hung  in  a  cloud  about  the  creaking  roof. 
The  fire  burned  fiercely  in  the  stove,  and  with  every 
rush  of  wind  outside  there  came  a  corresponding 
roar  of  flame  up  the  stovepipe. 

"  Maybe  you  take  my  meanin',"  said  the  Breed, 
assured  that  his  words  had  struck  home.  "  Them 


20  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

black  furs  was  chock  full  o'  grit  —  an*  that  grit 
was  gold-dust.  Guess  that  dust  didn't  grow  in  them 
furs;  an'  I  'lows  foxes  don't  fancy  a  bed  o'  such 
stuff.  Say,  boys,  you've  struck  gold  in  this  lay- 
out o'  yours.  That's  what's  brought  me  out  in 
this  all-fired  storm.'* 

The  two  brothers  exchanged  rapid  glances  and 
then  Ralph  spoke  for  them  both. 

"  You're  smart,  Victor.  That's  so.  We've  been 
workin'  a  patch  oj  pay-dirt  for  nigh  on  to  twelve 
month.  But  it's  worked  out;  clear  out  to  the  bed- 
rock. It  wa'n't  jest  a  great  find,  though  I  'lows, 
while  it  lasted,  we  took  a  tidy  wage  out  o'  it  —  " 

"  An'  what  might  you  call  a  '  tidy  wage  '  ?  "  asked 
the  Breed,  in  a  tone  of  disappointment.  He  knew 
these  men  so  well  that  he  did  not  doubt  their  state- 
ment; but  he  was  loth  to  relinquish  his  dream. 
He  had  come  there  to  make  an  arrangement  with 
them.  If  they  had  a  gold  working  he  considered 
that,  provided  he  could  be  of  use  to  them,  there 
would  be  ample  room  for  him  in  it  This  had  been 
the  object  of  his  hazardous  journey.  And  now  he 
was  told  that  it  had  worked  out.  He  loved  gold, 
and  the  news  came  as  a  great  blow  to  him. 

He  watched  Ralph  keenly  while  he  awaited  his 
reply,  sitting  up  in  his  eagerness. 


WHICH  TELLS  OF  THE    WHITE  SQUAW       21 

"  Seventy-fi'  dollars  a  day,"  Ralph  spoke  without 
enthusiasm. 

Victor's  eyes  sparkled. 

"Each?  "he  asked. 

"No,  on  shares." 

There  was  another  long  silence  while  the  voice 
of  the  storm  was  loud  without.  Victor  Gagnon 
was  thinking  hard,  but  his  face  was  calm,  his  ex- 
pression almost  indifferent.  More  coffee  was  drunk, 
and  the  smoke  continued  to  rise. 

"  I  'lows  you  should  know  if  it's  worked  out, 
sure." 

The  sharp  eyes  seemed  to  go  through  Ralph. 

"  Dead  sure.  We  ain't  drawn  a  cent's  worth  o' 
colour  out  o'  it  fer  nine  months  solid." 

"Tain't  worth  prospectin'  fer  the  reef?" 

"  Can't  say.  I  ain't  much  when  it  comes  to 
prospectin'  gold.  I  knows  the  colour  when  I  sees 
it." 

Nick  joined  in  the  conversation  at  this  point. 

"  Guess  you'd  a  notion  you  fancied  bein'  in  it," 
he  said,  smiling  over  at  the  Breed. 

Victor  laughed  a  little  harshly. 

"  That's  jest  what." 

The  two  brothers  nodded.  This  they  had  un- 
derstood. 

"  I'd  have  found  all  the  plant  fer  big  work," 


22  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

went  on  the  trader  eagerly.  "  I'd  have  found  the 
cash  to  do  everything.  I'd  have  found  the  labour. 
An'  us  three  'ud  have  made  a  great  syndicate. 
We'd  'a'  run  it  dead  secret.  Wi'  me  in  it  we  could 
'a'  sent  our  gold  down  to  the  bank  by  the  dogs, 
an',  bein'  as  my  shack's  so  far  from  here,  no  one 
'ud  ever  'a'  found  whar  the  yeller  come  from.  It 
'ud  'a'  been  a  real  fine  game  —  a  jo-dandy  game. 
An'  it's  worked  clear  out  ? "  he  asked  again,  as 
though  to  make  certain  that  he  had  heard  aright. 

"  Bottomed  right  down  to  the  bed-rock.  Maybe 
ye'd  like  to  see  fer  yourself  ?  " 

"  Guess  I  ken  take  your  word,  boys ;  ye  ain't 
the  sort  to  lie  to  a  pal.  I'm  real  sorry."  He  paused 
and  shifted  his  position.  Then  he  went  on  with  a 
slightly  cunning  look.  "  I  'lows  you're  like  to  take 
a  run  down  to  Edmonton  one  o'  these  days.  A 
feller  mostly  likes  to  make  things  hum  when  he's 
got  a  good  wad."  Gagnon's  tone  was  purely  con- 
versational. But  his  object  must  have  been  plain 
to  any  one  else.  He  was  bitterly  resentful  at  the 
working  out  of  the  placer  mine,  and  his  anger 
always  sent  his  thoughts  into  crooked  channels. 
His  nature  was  a  curious  one;  he  was  honest 
enough,  although  avaricious,  while  his  own  ends 
were  served.  It  was  different  when  he  was  balked. 

"  We  don't  notion  a  city  any,"  said  Nick,  simply. 


WHICH  TELLS-  OF  THE    WHITE  SQUAW        23 

"  Things  is  confusin'  to  judge  by  the  yarns  folks 
tell,"  added  Ralph,  with  a  shake  of  his  shaggy 
head. 

"  Them  fellers  as  comes  up  to  your  shack,  Victor, 
mostly  talks  o'  drink,  an'  shootm',  an'  —  an' 
women,"  Nick  went  on.  "  Guess  the  hills'll  do 
us.  Maybe  when  we've  done  wi'  graft  an'  feel  that 
it  'ud  be  good  to  laze,  likely  we'll  go  down  an'  buy 
a  homestead  on  the  prairie.  Maybe,  I  sez." 

Nick  spoke  dubiously,  like  a  man  who  does  not 
convince  himself. 

"  Hah,  that's  'cause  youVe  never  been  to  a 
city,"  said  the  Breed  sharply. 

"Jest  so,"  observed  Ralph  quietly,  between  the 
puffs  at  his  pipe. 

Gagnon  laughed  silently.  His  eyes  were  very 
bright  and  he  looked  from  one  brother  to  the  other 
with  appreciation.  An  idea  had  occurred  to  him 
and  he  was  mentally  probing  the  possibilities  of 
carrying  it  out.  What  he  saw  pleased  him,  for  he 
continued  to  smile. 

"  Well,  well,  maybe  you're  right,"  he  said  indul- 
gently. Then  silence  fell. 

Each  man  was  rapt  in  his  own  thoughts,  and 
talk  without  a  definite  object  was  foreign  to  at 
least  two  of  the  three.  The  brothers  were  waiting 
in  their  stolid  Indian  fashion  for  sleep  to  come. 


24  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

The  trader  was  thinking  hard  behind  his  lowered 
eyelids,  which  were  almost  hidden  by  the  thick 
smoke  which  rose  from  his  pipe. 

The  fire  burned  down  and  was  replenished. 
Ralph  rose  and  gathered  the  pannikins  and  threw 
them  into  a  biscuit-box.  Then  he  laid  out  his 
blankets  while  Nick  went  over  and  bolted  the  door. 
Still  the  trader  did  not  look  up.  When  the  two 
men  had  settled  themselves  comfortably  in  their 
blankets  the  other  at  last  put  his  pipe  away. 

"  No,"  he  said,  as  he  too  negotiated  his  blankets, 
"  guess  we  want  good  sound  men  in  these  hills, 
anyway.  I  reckon  you've  no  call  to  get  visitin' 
the  prairie,  boys ;  you're  the  finest  hunters  I've  ever 
known.  D'ye  know  the  name  your  shack  here 
goes  by  among  the  down-landers?  They  call  it 
the  '  Westley  Injun  Reserve/  " 

"  White  Injuns,"  said  Nick,  with  a  grin  followed 
by  a  yawn. 

"  That's  what,"  observed  Victor,  curling  him- 
self up  in  his  blankets.  "  I've  frequent  heard  tell 
of  the  White  Squaw,  but  White  Injuns  sounds  like 
as  it  wa'n't  jest  possible.  Howsum,  they  call  you 
real  white  buck  neches,  an'  I  'lows  ther'  ain't  no 
redskin  in  the  world  to  stan'  beside  you  on  the 
trail  o'  a  fur." 

The  two  men  laughed  at  their  friend's  rough 


WHICH  TELLS  OF  THE    WHITE  SQUAW       2$ 

tribute  to  their  attainments.  Ralph  was  the  quieter 
of  the  two,  but  his  appreciation  was  none  the  less. 
He  was  simple-hearted,  but  he  knew  his  own  worth 
when  dealing  with  furs.  Nick  laughed  loudly.  It 
tickled  him  to  be  considered  a  White  Indian  at  the 
calling  which  was  his,  for  his  whole  pride  was  in 
his  work. 

Nick  was  not  without  a  romantic  side  to  his 
nature.  The  life  of  the  mountains  had  imbued 
him  with  a  half-savage  superstition  which  revelled 
in  the  uncanny  lore  of  such  places.  This  was  not 
the  first  time  he  had  heard  of  a  White  Squaw,  and, 
although  he  did  not  believe  such  a  phenomenon  pos- 
sible, it  appealed  seductively  to  his  love  of  the 
marvellous.  Victor  had  turned  over  to  sleep,  but 
Nick  was  very  wide  awake  and  interested.  He 
could  not  let  such  an  opportunity  slip.  Victor 
was  good  at  a  yarn.  And,  besides,  Victor  knew 
more  of  the  mountain-lore  than  any  one  else.  So 
he  roused  the  Breed  again. 

"  You  was  sayin'  about  a  White  Squaw,  Victor/' 
he  said,  in  a  shamefaced  manner.  His  bronzed 
cheeks  were  deeply  flushed  and  he  glanced  over  at 
his  brother  to  see  if  he  were  laughing  at  him. 
Ralph  was  lying  full  length  upon  his  blankets  and 
his  eyes  were  closed,  so  he  went  on.  "  Guess  I've 


26  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

heerd  tell  of  a  White  Squaw.  Say,  ain't  it  that 
they  reckon  as  she  ain't  jest  a  human  crittur?" 

Victor  opened  his  eyes  and  rolled  over  on  his 
back.  If  there  was  one  weakness  he  had  it  was 
the  native  half-breed  love  of  romancing.  He  was 
ever  ready  to  yarn.  He  revelled  in  it  when  he  had 
a  good  audience.  Nick  was  the  very  man  for  him, 
simple,  honest,  superstitious.  So  he  sat  up  and 
answered  readily  enough. 

"  That's  jest  how,  pard.  An'  it  ain't  a  yarn 
neither.  It's  gospel  truth.  I  know." 

"  Hah !  "  ejaculated  Nick,  while  a  strange  feeling 
passed  down  his  spine.  Ralph's  eyes  had  slowly 
opened,  but  the  others  did  not  notice  him. 

"I've  seen  her!"  went  on  the  trader  emphati- 
cally. 

"  You've  seen  her ! "  said  Nick,  in  an  awed 
whisper. 

An  extra  loud  burst  of  the  storming  wind  held 
the  men  silent  a  moment,  then,  as  it  died  away, 
Victor  went  on. 

"Yes,  I  see  her  with  my  own  two  eyes,  an'  I 
ain't  like  to  ferget  it  neither.  Say,  ye've  seen 
them  Bible  'lustrations  in  my  shanty?  Them  pic- 
tur's  o'  lovesome  critturs  wi'  feathery  wings  an* 
sech?" 

"  I  guess." 


WHICH  TELLS  QF  THE    WHITE  SQUAW       2f 

"  Wai,  clip  them  wings  sheer  off,  an'  you've  got 
her  dead  right." 

"  Mush !  But  she  must  be  a  dandy  sight,"  ex- 
claimed Nick,  with  conviction.  "  How  come  ye 
to  —  " 

"  Guess  it's  a  long  yarn,  an'  maybe  ye're  wantin' 
to  sleep." 

"  Say,  I  'lows  I'd  like  that  yarn,  Victor.  I 
ain't  worried  for  sleep,  any." 

Nick  deliberately  refilled  his  pipe  and  lit  it,  and 
passed  his  tobacco  to  the  trader.  Victor  took  the 
pouch,  Ralph's  eyes  had  closed  again. 

"  You  allus  was  a  great  one  fer  a  yarn,  Nick," 
began  the  half-breed,  with  a  laugh.  "  Guess  you 
most  allus  gets  me  gassin';  but  say,  this  ain't 
no  yarn,  in  a  way.  It's  the  most  cur'us  bit  o' 
truth,  as  maybe  you'll  presently  allow.  But  I  ain't 
goin'  to  tell  it  you  if  ye  ain't  believin',  'cause  it's 
the  truth."  The  trader's  face  had  become  quite 
serious  and  he  spoke  with  unusual  earnestness. 
Nick  was  impressed,  and  Ralph's  eyes  had  opened 
again. 

"  Git  goin',  pard ;  guess  your  word's  good  fer 
me,"  Nick  said  eagerly.  "  You  was  sayin'  —  " 

"Ye've  heard  tell  o'  the  Moosefoot  Injuns?" 
began  the  trader  slowly.  Nick  nodded.  "  They're 
a  queer  lot  o'  neches.  I  used  to  do  a  deal  o'  trade 


28  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

wi'  them  on  the  Peace  River,  'fore  they  was  located 
on  a  reserve.  They  were  the  last  o'  the  old-time 
redskin  hunters.  Dessay  they  were  the  last  to  hunt 
the  buffalo  into  the  drives.  They're  pretty  fine 
men  now,  I  guess,  as  neches  go,  but  they  ain't 
nothin'  to  what  they  was.  I  guess  that  don't  figger 
anyway,  but  they're  different  from  most  Injuns, 
which  is  what  I  was  coming  to.  Their  chief  ain't 
a  '  brave,'  same  as  most,  which,  I  'lows,  is  unusual. 
Maybe  that's  how  it  come  they  ain't  allus  on  the 
war-path,  an'  maybe  that's  how  it  come  their  river's 
called  Peace  River.  Their  chief  is  a  Med'cine  Man ; 
has  been  ever  since  they  was  drove  across  the 
mountains  from  British  Columbia.  They  was  pretty 
nigh  wiped  out  when  that  happened,  so  they  did 
away  wi'  havin'  a  '  brave '  fer  a  chief,  an'  took  on 
a  '  Med'cine  Man.' 

"  Wai,  it  ain't  quite  clear  how  it  come  about, 
but  the  story,  which  is  most  gener'ly  believed,  says 
that  the  first  Med'cine  Man  was  pertic'ler  cunnin', 
an'  took  real  thick  with  the  white  folks'  way  o' 
doin'  things.  Say,  he  learned  his  folk  a  deal  o' 
farmin'  an'  sech,  an'  they  took  to  trappin'  same  as 
you  understand  it.  There  wa'n't  no  scrappin',  nor 
war-path  yowlin';  they  jest  come  an'  settled  right 
down  an'  took  on  to  the  land.  Wai,  this  feller,  'fore 
he  died,  got  the  Mission'ry  on  his  trail,  an'  got 


WHICH  TELLS  OF  THE    WHITE  SQUAW       29 

religion;  but  he  couldn't  git  dead  clear  o'  his 
med'cine,  an'  he  got  to  prophesyin'.  He  called  all 
his  folk  together  an'  took  out  his  youngest  squaw. 
She  was  a  pretty  crittur,  sleek  as  an  antelope  fawn ; 
I  'lows  her  pelt  was  nigh  as  smooth  an'  soft.  Her 
eyes  were  as  black  an'  big  as  a  moose  calf's,  an' 
her  hair  was  as  fine  as  black  fox  fur.  Wai,  he 
up  an'  spoke  to  them  folk,  an'  said  as  ther'  was  a 
White  Squaw  comin'  amongst  'em  who  was  goin' 
to  make  'em  a  great  people ;  who  was  goin'  to  lead 
'em  to  victory  agin  their  old  enemies  in  British 
Columbia,  where  they'd  go  back  to  an'  live  in  peace. 
An'  he  told  'em  as  this  squaw  was  goin'  to  be  the 
instrument  by  which  the  comin'  of  the  White  Squaw 
was  to  happen.  Then  they  danced  a  Med'cine 
Dance  about  her,  an'  he  made  med'cine  for  three 
days  wi'out  stoppin'.  Then  they  built  her  a  lodge 
o'  teepees  in  the  heart  o'  the  forest,  where  she  was 
to  live  by  herself. 

"  Wai,  time  went  on  an'  the  squaw  give  birth 
to  a  daughter,  but  she  wa'n't  jest  white,  so  the  men 
took  and  killed  her,  I  guess.  Then  came  another; 
she  was  whiter  than  the  first,  but  she  didn't  jest 
please  the  folk,  an'  they  killed  her  too.  Then  came 
another,  an'  another,  each  child  whiter  than  the 
last,  an'  they  were  all  killed,  'cause  I  guess  they 
wa'n't  jest  white.  Till  the  seventh  come  along. 


30  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

The  seventh  was  the  White  Squaw.  Say,  fair  as 
a  pictur,  wi'  black  hair  that  shone  in  the  sun,  an* 
wi'  eyes  that  blue  as  'ud  shame  the  summer  sky." 

The  half-breed  paused,  and  sat  staring  with  in- 
trospective gaze  at  the  iron  side  of  the  stove.  Nick 
was  gazing  at  him  all  eyes  and  ears  for  the  story. 
Ralph,  too,  was  sitting  up  now. 

"  Wai,  she  was  taken  care  of  an*  treated  like  the 
queen  she  was.  On'y  the  headman  was  allowed  to 
look  at  her.  She  grew  an'  grew,  an'  all  the  tribe 
was  thinkin'  of  war,  an'  gettin'  ready.  They  made 
1  braves '  nigh  every  week,  an'  their  Sun  Dances 
was  the  greatest  ever  known.  They  danced  Ghost 
Dances,  too,  to  keep  away  Evil  Spirits,  I  guess,  an' 
things  was  goin'  real  good.  Then  sudden  comes 
the  white  folk,  an'  after  a  bit  they  was  all  herded 
on  to  a  Reserve  an'  kep'  there.  But  that  White 
Squaw  never  left  her  home  in  the  forest,  'cause 
no  one  but  the  headman  knew  where  she  was.  She 
was  on'y  a  young  girl  then;  I  guess  she's  grown 
now.  Wai,  fer  years  them  pore  critturs  reckoned 
on  her  comin'  along  an'  leadin'  them  out  on  the 
war-path.  But  she  didn't  come;  she  jest  stayed 
right  along  with  her  mother  in  that  forest,  an'  didn't 
budge. 

"  That's  the  yarn  as  it  stan's,"  Victor  went  on, 
after  another  pause,  "  but  this  is  how  I  come  to 


WHICH  TELLS  OF  THE    WHITE  SQUAW       31 

see  her.  It  was  winter,  an'  I  was  tradin'  on  the 
Reserve  there.  It  was  a  fine,  cold  day,  an'  the 
snow  was  good  an'  hard,  an'  I  set  out  to  hunt  an 
old  bull  moose  that  was  runnin'  with  its  mates  in 
the  location.  I  took  two  neches  with  me,  an'  we 
had  a  slap-up  time  fer  nigh  on  to  a  week.  We 
hunted  them  moose  hard  the  whole  time,  but  never 
came  up  wi'  'em.  Then  it  came  on  to  storm,  an' 
we  pitched  camp  in  a  thick  pine  forest.  We  was 
there  fer  nigh  on  three  days  while  it  stormed 
a'mighty  hard.  Then  it  cleared  an'  we  set  out, 
an',  wi'in  fifty  yards  o'  our  camp,  we  struck  the 
trail  o'  the  moose.  We  went  red-hot  after  them 
beasts,  I'm  figgerin',  an'  they  took  us  into  the  thick 
o'  the  forest.  Then  we  got  a  couple  o'  shots  in; 
my  slugs  got  home,  but,  fer  awhiles,  we  lost  them 
critturs.  Next  day  we  set  out  again,  an'  at  noon 
we  was  startled  by  hearin'  a  shot  fired  by  som'un 
else.  We  kep'  right  on,  an'  bimeby  we  came  to 
a  clearin'.  There  we  saw  four  teepees  an'  a  shack 
o'  pine  logs  all  smeared  wi'  colour;  but  what  came 
nigh  to  par'lyzin'  me  was  the  sight  o'  my  moose 
lyin'  all  o'  a  heap  on  the  ground,  an',  standin' 
beside  its  carcass,  leanin'  on  a  long  muzzle-loader, 
was  a  white  woman.  She  was  wearin'  the  blanket 
right  enough,  but  she  was  as  white  as  you  are. 
Say,  she  had  six  great  huskies  wi'  her,  an'  four 


$2  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

women.  An'  when  they  see  us  they  put  hard  into 
the  woods.  I  was  fer  goin'  to  have  a  look  at  the 
teepees,  but  my  neches  wouldn't  let  me.  They  told 
me  the  lodge  was  sacred  to  the  White  Squaw,  who 
we'd  jest  seen.  An'  I  'lows,  they  neches  wa'n't  jest 
easy  till  we  cleared  them  woods." 

"An'  she  was  beautiful,  an'  —  an'  fine?"  asked 
Nick,  as  the  trader  ceased  speaking.  "  Was  she 
that  beautiful  as  you'd  heerd  tell  of?  " 

His  voice  was  eager  with  suppressed  excitement. 
His  pipe  had  gone  out,  and  he  had  forgotten  every- 
thing but  the  story  the  Breed  had  told. 

"  Ay,  that  she  was ;  her  skin  was  as  clear  as  the 
snow  she  trod  on,  an'  her  eyes  —  gee!  but  I've 
never  seen  the  like.  Man,  she  was  wonderful." 

Victor  threw  up  his  hands  in  a  sort  of  ecstasy 
and  looked  up  at  the  creaking  roof. 

"An'  her  hair?"  asked  Nick,  wonderingly. 

"A  black  fox  pelt  was  white  aside  it." 

"An'  didn't  ye  f oiler  her?" 

The  question  came  abruptly  from  Ralph,  whom 
the  others  had  forgotten. 

"  I  didn't  jest  know  you  was  awake,"  said  Vic- 
tor. "Wai,  no,  to  own  the  truth,  I  'lows  I  was 
scart  to  death  wi'  what  them  neches  said.  Maybe  I 
wa'n't  sorry  to  light  out  o'  them  woods." 

They  talked  on  for  a  few  moments  longer,  then 


WHICH  TELLS.  OF  THE    WHITE  SQUAW        33 

Ralph's  stertorous  breathing  told  of  sleep.  Victor 
was  not  long  in  following  his  example.  Nick  sat 
smoking  thoughtfully  for  some  time;  presently  he 
rose  and  put  out  the  lamp  and  stoked  up  the  fire. 
Then  he,  too,  rolled  over  in  his  blankets,  and,  think- 
ing of  the  beautiful  White  Squaw,  dropped  off  to 
sleep  to  continue  his  meditations  in  dreamland. 


CHAPTER    III. 

THE   QUEST   OF   THE   WHITE   SQUAW 

CHRISTMAS  had  gone  by  and  the  new  year  was 
nearing  the  end  of  its  first  month.  It  was  many 
weeks  since  Victor  Gagnon  had  come  to  the  West- 
ley's  dugout  on  that  stormy  evening.  But  his  visit 
had  not  been  forgotten.  The  story  of  the  White 
Squaw  had  made  an  impression  upon  Nick  such  as 
the  half-breed  could  never  have  anticipated.  Ralph 
had  thought  much  of  it  too,  but,  left  to  himself, 
he  would  probably  have  forgotten  it,  or,  at  most, 
have  merely  remembered  it  as  a  good  yarn. 

But  this  he  was  not  allowed  to  do.  Nick  was 
enthusiastic.  The  romance  of  the  mountains  was 
in  his  blood,  and  that  blood  was  glowing  with  the 
primest  life  of  man.  The  fire  of  youth  had  never 
been  stirred  within  him,  but  it  was  there,  as  surely 
as  it  is  in  every  human  creature.  Both  men  were 
nearing  forty  years  of  age,  and,  beyond  the  asso- 
ciations of  the  trader's  place,  they  had  never  mixed 
with  their  fellows. 

34 


THE   QUEST  OF  THE    WHITE  SQUAW  35 

The  dream  of  this  beautiful  White  Squaw  had 
come  to  Nick;  and,  in  the  solitude  of  the  forest, 
in  the  snow-bound  wild,  it  remained  with  him,  a 
vision  of  such  joy  as  he  had  never  before  dreamed. 
The  name  of  "  woman  "  held  for  him  suggestions 
of  unknown  delights,  and  the  weird  surroundings 
with  which  Victor  had  enveloped  the  lovely  crea- 
ture made  the  White  Squaw  a  vision  so  alluring 
that  his  uncultured  brain  was  incapable  of  shutting 
it  out.  . 

And  thus  it  was,  as  he  glided,  ghost-like,  through 
the  forests  or  scaled  the  snowy  crags  in  the  course 
of  his  daily  work,  the  memory  of  the  mysterious 
creature  remained  with  him.  He  thought  of  her 
as  he  set  his  traps;  he  thought  of  her,  as,  hard 
on  the  trail  of  moose,  or  deer,  or  wolf,  or  bear,  he 
scoured  the  valleys  and  hills;  in  the  shadow  of 
the  trees  at  twilight,  in  fancy  he  saw  her  lurking; 
even  amidst  the  black,  barren  tree-trunks  down  by 
the  river  banks.  His  eyes  and  ears  were  ever  alert 
with  the  half-dread  expectation  of  seeing  her  or 
hearing  her  voice.  The  scene  Victor  had  described 
of  the  white  huntress  leaning  upon  her  rifle  was 
the  most  vivid  in  his  imagination,  and  he  told  him- 
self that  some  day,  in  the  chances  of  the  chase,  she 
might  visit  his  valleys,  his  hills. 

At  night  he  would  talk  of  her  to  his  brother,  and 


36  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

together  they  would  chum  the  matter  over,  and 
slowly,  in  the  more  phlegmatic  Ralph,  Nick  kindled 
the  flame  with  which  he  himself  was  consumed. 

And  so  the  days  wore  on ;  a  fresh  zest  was  added 
to  their  toil.  Each  morning  Ralph  would  set  out 
with  a  vague  but  pleasurable  anticipation  of  adven- 
ture. And  as  his  mind  succumbed  to  the  strange 
influence  of  the  White  Squaw,  it  coloured  for  him 
what  had  been  the  commonplace  events  of  his  daily 
life.  If  a  buck  was  started  and  rushed  crashing 
through  the  forest  growths,  he  would  pause  ere  he 
raised  his  rifle  to  assure  himself  that  it  was  not  a 
woman,  garbed  in  the  parti-coloured  blanket  of  the 
Moosefoot  Indians,  and  with  a  face  radiant  as  an 
angel's.  His  slow-moving  imagination  was  deeply 
stirred. 

From  the  Beginning  Nature  has  spoken  in  no 
uncertain  language.  "  Man  shall  not  live  alone," 
she  says.  Victor  Gagnon  had  roused  these  two 
simple  creatures.  There  was  a  woman  in  the  world, 
other  than  the  mother  they  had  known,  and  they 
began  to  wonder  why  the  mountains  should  be  peo- 
pled only  by  the  forest  beasts  and  solitary  man. 

As  February  came  the  time  dragged  more  heav- 
ily than  these  men  had  ever  known  it  to  drag  before. 
They  no  longer  sat  and  talked  of  the  White  Squaw, 
and  speculated  as  to  her  identity,  and  the  phenom- 


THE   QUEST  OF  THE    WHITE  SQUAW  37 

enon  of  her  birth,  and  her  mission  with  regard  to 
her  tribe.  Somehow  the  outspoken  enthusiasm  of 
Nick  had  subsided  into  silent  brooding;  and  Ralph 
needed  no  longer  the  encouragement  of  his  younger 
brother  to  urge  him  to  think  of  the  strange  white 
creature.  Each  had  taken  the  subject  to  himself, 
and  nursed  and  fostered  it  in  his  own  way. 

The  time  was  approaching  for  their  visit  to  Ga- 
gnon's  store.  This  was  the  reason  of  the  dragging 
days.  Both  men  were  eager  for  the  visit,  and  the 
cause  of  their  eagerness  was  not  far  to  seek.  They 
wished  to  see  the  half-breed  and  feed  their  passion 
on  fresh  words  of  the  lovely  creature  who  had  so 
strangely  possessed  their  imaginations. 

They  did  not  neglect  the  methodical  routine  of 
their  duties.  When  night  closed  in  Nick  saw  to 
the  dogs.  The  great  huskies  obeyed  only  one  mas- 
ter who  fed  them,  who  cared  for  them,  who  flogged 
them  on  the  trail  with  club  and  whip;  and  that  was 
Nick.  Ralph  they  knew  not.  He  cooked.  He 
was  the  domestic  of  the  abode,  for  he  was  of  a 
slow  nature  which  could  deal  with  the  small  details 
of  such  work.  Nick  was  too  large  and  heavy  in 
his  mode  of  life  to  season  a  stew.  But  in  the  trap- 
per's craft  it  is  probable  that  he  was  the  better  man. 

The  brothers'  nights  were  passed  in  long,  Indian- 
like  silence  which  ended  in  sleep.  Tobacco  scented 


38  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

the  atmosphere  of  the  hut  with  a  heaviness  that  was 
depressing.  Each  man  sat  upon  his  blankets  alter- 
nating between  his  pannikin  of  coffee  and  his  pipe, 
with  eyes  lowered  in  deep  thought,  or  turned  upon 
the  glowing  stove  in  earnest,  unseeing  contempla- 
tion. 

The  night  before  the  appointed  day  for  starting 
came  round.  To-morrow  they  would  be  swinging 
along  over  the  snowy  earth  with  their  dogs  haul- 
ing their  laden  sled.  The  morrow  would  see  them 
on  their  way  to  Little  Choyeuse  Creek,  on  the  bank 
of  which  stood  Victor  Gagnon's  store. 

There  was  an  atmosphere  of  suppressed  excite- 
ment in  the  doings  of  that  night.  There  was  much 
to  be  done,  and  the  unusual  activity  almost  seemed 
a  bustle  in  so  quiet  an  abode.  Outside  the  door 
the  sled  stood  piled  with  the  furs  which  represented 
their  winter's  catch.  The  dog  harness  was  spread 
out,  and  all  was  in  readiness.  Inside  the  hut  the 
two  men  were  packing  away  the  stuff  they  must 
leave  behind.  Although  there  was  no  fear  of  their 
home  being  invaded  it  was  their  custom  to  take 
certain  precautions.  In  that  hut  were  all  their  sav- 
ings, to  lose  which  would  mean  to  lose  the  fruits 
of  their  life's  labours. 

Nick  had  just  moved  a  chest  from  the  depths 
of  the  patchwork  cupboard  in  which  they  kept  their 


THE   QUEST  OF  THE    WHITE  SQUAW          39 

food.  It  was  a  small  receptacle  hewn  out  of  a  solid 
pine  log.  The  lid  was  attached  with  heavy  raw- 
hide hinges,  and  was  secured  by  an  iron  hasp  held 
by  a  clumsy-looking  padlock.  He  set  it  down  upon 
his  blankets. 

"Wer'll  we  put  this?"  he  asked  abruptly. 

Ralph  looked  at  it  with  his  thoughtful  eyes. 

"  It  needs  considering"  he  observed.  And  he 
leant  himself  against  a  heavy  table  which  stood  by 
the  wall. 

"  We  ain't  opened  it  since  last  fall,"  said  Nick 
presently,  after  a  long  and  steady  survey  of  the 
object  of  their  solicitude. 

"  No." 

"  Ther's  a  deal  in  it." 

Ralph  groped  at  the  neck  of  his  shirt.  Nick 
watched  his  brother's  movements. 

"  Maybe  we'll  figure  it  up  agin." 

Ralph  fell  in  with  his  brother's  suggestion  and 
drew  out  the  key  which  was  secured  round  his  neck. 
He  unlocked  the  rusty  padlock  and  threw  open  the 
lid.  The  chest  contained  six  small  bags  filled  to 
bursting  point  and  securely  tied  with  rawhide;  one 
bag,  half- full  and  open ;  and  a  thick  packet  of  Bank 
of  Montreal  bills. 

Nick  knelt  down  and  took  out  the  bills  and  set 
them  on  one  side. 


4O  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

"  Ther's  fi'  thousand  dollars  ther',"  he  said.  "  I 
'lows  they've  been  reckoned  careful."  Then  he 
picked  up  one  of  the  bags  and  held  it  up  for  his 
brother's  inspection.  "  We  tied  them  seven  bags 
up  all  weighin'  equal,  but  we  ain't  jest  sure  how 
much  dust  they  hold.  Seven,"  he  went  on  reflect- 
ively, "  ther's  on'y  six  an*  a  haf  now,  since  them 
woodbugs  got  at  'em,  'fore  we  made  this  chest.  I 
'lows  Victor's  'cute  to  locate  the  dust  in  them  furs. 
It  wa'n't  a  good  layout  wrappin'  the  bags  in  black 
fox  pelts.  Howsum,  I'd  like  to  know  the  value  o' 
them  bags.  Weighs  nigh  on  to  three  poun',  I'm 
guessin'." 

Ralph  took  the  bag  and  weighed  it  in  his  hand. 

"More,"  he  said.  "Ther's  fi'  poun'  o'  weight 
ther'." 

"  Guess  them  bags  together  means  fifteen  to 
twenty  thousan'  dollars,  sure,"  said  Nick,  his  eyes 
shining  at  the  thought. 

"I  don't  rightly  know,"  said  Ralph.  "It's  a 
goodish  wad,  I  'lows." 

Nick  returned  the  store  to  the  chest  which  Ralph 
relocked. 

"  Where  ?  "  asked  Nick,  glancing  round  the  hut 
in  search  of  a  secure  hiding-place. 

"  We'll  dig  a  hole  in  the  floor  under  my  blan- 


THE  QUEST  OF  THE    WHITE  SQUAW  ,       41 

kets,"  said  Ralph  after  a  pause.  "  Maybe  it'll  be 
tol'ble  safe  there." 

And  for  greater  security  the  chest  was  so  dis- 
posed. The  work  was  quickly  done,  and  the  clay 
floor,  with  the  aid  of  water,  was  smeared  into  its 
usual  smooth  appearance  again.  Then  the  brothers 
sought  their  rest. 

At  daybreak  came  the  start.  Nick  harnessed  the 
dogs,  five  great  huskies  who  lived  in  the  shelter  of 
a  rough  shed  outside  the  hut  when  it  stormed,  and 
curled  themselves  up  in  the  snow,  or  prowled,  bay- 
ing the  moon,  when  the  night  was  fine.  Fierce- 
looking  brutes  these  with  their  long,  keen  muzzles, 
their  high  shoulders  and  deep  chests,  their  drooping 
quarters  which  were  massed  with  muscle  right  down 
to  the  higher  sinews  of  their  great  feet.  Their 
ferocity  was  chiefly  the  animal  antagonism  for  their 
kind;  with  Nick  they  were  easy  enough  to  handle, 
for  all  had  been  well  broken  beneath  the  heavy  lash 
which  the  man  knew  better  than  to  spare. 

While  the  dogs  were  being  hitched  into  their 
places  Ralph  secured  the  door  of  the  dugout.  There 
were  no  half  measures  here.  The  door  was  nailed 
up  securely,  and  a  barrier  of  logs  set  before  it. 
Then,  when  all  was  ready,  the  men  took  their  poles 
and  Nick  broke  out  the  frost-bound  runners  of  the 
sled.  At  the  magic  word  "  Mush ! "  the  dogs 


42  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

sprang  at  their  breast-draws,  and  the  sled  glided 
away  down  the  slope  with  Nick  running  beside  it, 
and  Ralph  following  close  behind. 

Down  they  dropped  into  the  depths  of  the  silent 
valley,  Nick  guiding  his  dogs  by  word  of  mouth 
alone.  The  lead  dog,  an  especially  vile-tempered 
husky,  needed  nothing  but  the  oft-repeated  "  Gee  " 
and  "  Haw  "  where  no  packed  path  was,  and  when 
anything  approaching  a  trail  was  struck  Nick  issued 
no  commands.  These  creatures  of  the  wild  knew 
their  work,  loved  it,  lived  for  it,  as  all  who  have 
seen  them  labouring  over  snow  and  ice  must  under- 
stand. 

By  the  route  they  must  take  it  was  one  hundred 
miles  to  Little  Choyeuse  Creek.  One  hundred  miles 
of  mountain  and  forest;  one  hundred  miles  of 
gloomy  silence;  one  hundred  miles  of  virgin  snow, 
soft  to  the  feet  of  the  labouring  dogs,  giving  them 
no  foothold  but  the  sheer  anchorage  of  half -buried 
legs.  It  was  a  temper-trying  journey  for  man  and 
beast.  The  dogs  snapped  at  each  other's  heels,  but 
the  men  remained  silent,  hugging  their  own 
thoughts  and  toiling  amidst  the  pleasure  of  antici- 
pation. 

Skirting  the  forests  wherever  possible,  and  fol- 
lowing the  break  of  the  mammoth  pine-trees  when 
no  bald  opening  was  to  hand  they  sped  along.  The 


THE  QUEST  OF  THE    WHITE  SQUAW         43 

dogs  hauled  at  the  easy  running  sled,  while,  with 
long,  gliding  strides,  the  two  men  kept  pace  with 
them.  The  hills  were  faced  by  the  sturdy  dogs 
with  the  calm  persistence  of  creatures  who  know 
their  own  indomitable  powers  of  endurance,  while 
the  descents  were  made  with  a  speed  which  was 
governed  by  the  incessant  use  of  Nick's  pole. 

The  evening  camp  was  pitched  in  the  shelter  of 
the  forest.  The  dogs  fed  voraciously  and  well  on 
their  raw  fish,  for  the  journey  was  short  and  pro- 
visions plentiful.  The  two  men  fared  in  their  usual 
plain  way.  They  slept  in  their  fur-lined  bags  while 
the  wolfish  burden-bearers  of  the  North  first 
prowled,  argued  out  their  private  quarrels,  sang 
in  chorus  as  the  northern  lights  moved  fantastically 
in  the  sky,  and  finally  curled  themselves  in  their 
several  snow-burrows. 

The  camp  was  struck  at  daylight  next  morning 
and  the  journey  resumed.  The  dogs  raced  fresh 
and  strong  after  their  rest,  and  the  miles  were 
devoured  with  greedy  haste.  The  white  valleys 
wound  in  a  mazy  tangle  round  the  foot  of  tremen- 
dous hills,  but  never  a  mistake  in  direction  was 
made  by  the  driver,  Nick.  To  him  the  trail  was 
as  plain  as  though  every  foot  of  it  were  marked 
by  well-packed  snow;  every  landmark  was  antici- 
pated, every  inch  of  that  chaotic  land  was  an  open 


44  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

book.  A  "  Gee,"  or  a  sudden  "  Haw  "  and  a  fresh 
basin  of  magnificent  primeval  forest  would  open 
before  the  travellers.  And  so  the  unending  ocean 
of  mountain  rollers  and  forest  troughs  continued. 
No  variation,  save  from  the  dead  white  of  the  open 
snowfields  to  the  heavy  shadows  of  the  forest.  Al- 
ways the  strange,  mystic  grey  twilight;  the  daz- 
zling sparkle  of  glinting  snow ;  the  biting  air  which 
stung  the  flesh  like  the  sear  of  a  red-hot  iron;  the 
steady  run  of  dogs  and  men.  On,  on,  with  no 
thought  of  time  to  harass  the  mind,  only  the  des- 
tination to  think  of. 

And  when  they  came  to  Little.  Choyeuse  Creek 
they  were  welcomed  in  person  by  Victor  Gagnon. 
He  awaited  them  at  his  threshold.  The  clumsy 
stockade  of  lateral  pine  logs,  a  relic  of  the  old  In- 
dian days  when  it  was  necessary  for  every  fur  store 
to  be  a  fortress,  was  now  a  wreck.  A  few  upright 
posts  were  standing,  but  the  rest  had  long  since 
been  used  to  bank  the  stoves  with. 

The  afternoon  was  spent  in  barter,  and  the  time 
was  one  of  beaming  good  nature,  for  Victor  was 
a  shrewd  dealer,  and  the  two  brothers  had  little  real 
estimate  of  the  value  of  money.  They  sold  their 
pelts  in  sets,  regardless  of  quality.  And  when  the 
last  was  traded,  and  Victor  had  parted  the  value 
in  stores  and  cash,  there  came  a  strong  feeling  of 


THE   QUEST  OF  THE    WHITE  SQUAW          45 

relief  to  the  trappers.  Now  for  their  brief  holi- 
day. 

It  was  the  custom  on  the  occasion  of  these  visits 
to  make  merry  in  a  temperate  way.  Victor  was 
never  averse  to  such  doings  for  there  was  French 
blood  in  his  veins.  He  could  sing  a  song,  and  most 
of  his  ditties  were  either  of  the  old  days  of  the 
Red  River  Valley,  or- dealt  with  the  early  settlers 
round  the  Citadel  of  Quebec.  Amongst  the  accom- 
plishments which  he  possessed  was  that  of  scraping 
out  woful  strains  upon  an  ancient  fiddle.  In  this 
land,  where  life  was  always  serious,  he  was  a  right 
jovial  companion  for  such  men  as  Nick  and  Ralph, 
and  the  merry  evenings  in  his  company  at  the  store 
were  well  thought  of. 

When  night  closed  down,  and  supper  was  fin- 
ished, and  the  untidy  living-room  which  backed  the 
store  was  cleared  by  the  half-breed,  the  business 
of  the  evening's  entertainment  began.  The  first 
thing  in  Victor's  idea  of  hospitality  was  a  "  brew  " 
of  hot  drink.  He  would  have  called  it  "  punch," 
but  the  name  was  impossible.  It  was  a  decoction 
of  vanilla  essence,  spiced  up,  and  flavoured  in  a 
manner  which,  he  claimed,  only  he  understood. 
The  result  was  stimulating,  slightly  nauseating,  but 
sufficiently  unusual  to  be  enticing  to  those  who 
lived  the  sober  life  of  the  mountain  wild.  He  would 


46  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

have  bestowed  good  rum  or  whiskey  upon  these 
comrades  of  his,  only  his  store  of  those  seductive 
beverages  had  long  since  given  out,  and  was  not 
likely  to  be  replenished  until  the  breaking  of  spring. 
The  variety  of  strong  drink  which  falls  to  the  lot 
of  such  men  as  he  is  extensive.  His  days  of  "  pain- 
killer," which  he  stocked  for  trade,  had  not  yet 
come  round.  The  essences  were  not  yet  finished. 
Pain-killer  would  come  next;  after  that,  if  need 
be,  would  come  libations  of  red  ink.  He  had  even, 
in  his  time,  been  reduced  to  boiling  down  plug  to- 
bacco and  distilling  the  liquor.  But  these  last  two 
were  only  used  in  extremis. 

The  three  men  sat  round  and  sipped  the  steaming 
liquor,  the  two  brothers  vying  with  each  other  in 
their  praises  of  Victor's  skill  in  the  "  brew." 

The  first  glass  was  drunk  with  much  apprecia- 
tion. Over  the  second  came  a  dallying.  Nick, 
experiencing  the  influence  of  the  spirit,  asked  for 
a  tune  on  the  fiddle.  Victor  responded  with  alac- 
rity and  wailed  out  an  old  half-breed  melody,  a 
series  of  repetitions  of  a  morbid  refrain.  It  pro- 
duced, nevertheless,  an  enlivening  effect  upon  Ralph, 
who  asked  for  another.  Then  Victor  sang,  in  a 
thin  tenor  voice,  the  twenty  and  odd  verses  of  a 
song  called  "  The  Red  River  Valley;  "  the  last  lines 
of  the  refrain  were  always  the  same  and  wailed 


THE   QUEST  OF  THE    WHITE  SQUAW          47 

out  mournfully  upon  the  dense  atmosphere  of  the 
room. 

"  So  remember  the  Red  River  Valley 
And  the  half-breed  that  loved  you  so  true.  " 

But,  even  so,  there  was  something  perfectly  in 
keeping  between  the  recreation  of  these  men  and 
the  wild,  uncouth  life  they  led.  The  long,  grey 
winter  and  the  brief,  fleeting  summer,  the  desolate 
wastes  and  dreary  isolation. 

After  awhile  the  sum  of  Victor's  entertainment 
was  worked  out  and  they  fell  back  on  mere  talk. 
But  as  the  potent  spirit  worked,  the  conversation 
became  louder  than  usual,  and  Victor  did  not  mon- 
opolize it.  The  two  brothers  did  their  share,  and 
each,  unknown  to  the  other,  was  seeking  an  oppor- 
tunity of  turning  Victor's  thoughts  into  the  chan- 
nel where  dwelt  his  recollections  of  the  wonderful 
White  Squaw. 

Nick  was  the  one  who  broke  the  ice.  The  more 
slow-going  Ralph  had  not  taken  so  much  spirit  as 
his  brother.  Nick's  eyes  were  bright,  almost  burn- 
ing, as  he  turned  his  flushed,  rugged  face  upon  the 
half-breed.  He  leant  forward  in  his  eagerness  and 
his  words  came  rapidly,  almost  fiercely. 

"  Say,  Victor,"  he  jerked  out,  as  though  he  had 
screwed  himself  up  for  the  necessary  courage  to 
speak  on  the  subject.  "  I  was  thinkin'  o'  that  white 


48  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

crittur  you  got  yarnin'  about  when  you  come  around 
our  shanty.  Jest  whar's  that  Moosefoot  Reserve, 
an'  —  an'  the  bit  o'  forest  whar  her  lodge  is  lo- 
cated? Maybe  I'd  fancy  to  know.  I  'lows  I  was 
kind  o'  struck  on  that  yarn." 

The  trader  saw  the  eager  face,  and  the  excitement 
in  the  eyes  which  looked  into  his,  and,  in  a  moment, 
his  merry  mood  died  out.  His  dark  face  became 
serious,  and  his  keen  black  eyes  looked  sharply  back 
into  Nick's  expressive  countenance.  He  answered 
at  once  in  characteristic  fashion. 

"  The  Reserve's  nigh  on  to  a  hund'ed  an'  fifty 
miles  from  here,  I  guess.  Lies  away  ther'  to  the 
nor' east,  down  in  the  Foothills.  The  bluff  lies  be- 
yond." Then  he  paused  and  a  flash  of  thought 
shot  through  his  active  brain.  There  was  a  strange 
something  looking  out  of  Nick's  eyes  which  he 
interpreted  aright.  Inspiration  leapt,  and  he 
gripped  it,  and  held  it. 

"  Say,"  he  went  on,  "  you  ain't  thinkin'  o'  makin' 
the  Reserve,  Nick?"  Then  he  turned  swiftly  and 
looked  at  Ralph.  The  quieter  man  was  gazing 
heavily  at  his  brother.  And  as  Victor  turned  back 
again  to  Nick  his  heart  beat  faster. 

Nick  lowered  his  eyes  when  he  found  himself  the 
object  of  the  double  scrutiny.  He  felt  as  though 
he  would  like  to  have  withdrawn  his  questions,  and 


THE  QUEST  OF  THE    WHITE  SQUAW          49 

he  shifted   uneasily.      But   Victor  waited   for  his 
answer  and  he  was  forced  to  go  on. 

"  Oh,"  he  said,  with  a  shamefaced  laugh,  "  I  was 
on'y  jest  thinkin'.  I  'lows  that  yarn  was  a  real 
good  one." 

There  was  a  brief  silence  while  swift  thought 
was  passing  behind  Victor's  dark  face.  Then 
slowly,  and  even  solemnly,  came  words  which 
gripped  the  hearts  of  his  two  guests. 

"  It  wa'n't  no  yarn.  I  see  that  White  Squaw 
wi'  my  own  two  eyes." 

Nick  started  to  his  feet.  The  "  punch  "  had  fired 
him  almost  beyond  control.  His  face  worked  with 
nervous  twitchings.  He  raised  one  hand  up  and 
swung  it  forcefully  down  as  though  delivering  a 
blow. 

"By  Gar!"  he  cried,  "then  I  go  an'  find  her; 
I  go  an'  see  for  myself." 

And  as  he  spoke  a  strange  expression  looked  out 
of  Victor's  eyes. 

Ralph  removed  his  pipe  from  his  lips. 

"  Good,  Nick,"  he  said  emphatically.  "  The  dogs 
are  fresh.  Guess  a  long  trail'll  do  'em  a  deal  o' 
good.  When'll  we  start?" 

Nick  looked  across  at  his  brother.  He  was  doubt- 
ful if  he  had  heard  aright.  He  had  expected  strong 
opposition  from  the  quiet,  steady-going  Ralph. 


5O  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

But,  instead,  the  elder  man  gave  unhesitating  ap- 
proval. Just  for  one  instant  there  came  a  strange 
feeling  in  his  heart;  a  slight  doubt,  a  sensation  of 
disappointment,  something  foreign  to  his  nature  and 
unaccountable,  something  which  took  all  pleasure 
from  the  thought  of  his  brother's  company.  It  was 
quite  a  fleeting  sensation,  however,  for  the  next 
moment  it  was  gone;  his  honest  nature  rose  supe- 
rior to  any  such  jealousy  and  he  strode  across  the 
room  and  gripped  Ralph's  hand. 

"  Say,  we'll  start  at  daylight,  brother.  Jest  you 
an'  me,"  he  blurted  out,  in  the  fulness  of  his  large 
heart.  "We'll  hunt  that  white  crittur  out,  we'll 
smell  her  out  like  Injun  med'cine-men,  an'  we'll 
bring  her  back  wi'  us.  Say,  Ralph,  we'll  treat  her 
like  an  angel,  this  dandy,  queer  thing.  By  Gar! 
We'll  find  her,  sure.  Shake  again,  brother."  They 
wrung  each  other  forcefully  by  the  hand.  "  Shake, 
Victor."  And  Nick  turned  and  caught  the  trader's 
slim  hand  in  his  overwhelming  grasp. 

His  enthusiasm  was  at  boiling  point.  The  brew 
of  essences  had  done  its  work.  Victor's  swift-mov- 
ing eyes  saw  what  was  passing  in  the  thoughts  of 
both  his  guests.  And,  like  the  others,  his  enthusi- 
asm rose.  But  there  was  none  of  the  simple  hon- 
esty of  these  men  in  Victor.  The  half-breed  cun- 


THE  QUEST  OF  THE    WHITE  SQUAW          51 

ning  was  working-  within  him;  and  the  half-breed 
cunning  is  rarely  clean. 

And  so  the  night  ended  to  everybody's  satisfac- 
tion. Ralph  was  even  more  quiet  than  usual.  Vic- 
tor Gagnon  felt  that  the  stars  were  working  in  his 
best  interests;  and  he  blessed  the  lucky  and  inno- 
cent thought  that  had  suggested  to  him  the  yarn  of 
the  White  Squaw.  As  for  Nick,  his  delight  was 
boisterous  and  unrestrained.  He  revelled  openly 
in  the  prospect  of  the  morrow's  journey. 

Nor  had  broad  daylight  power  to  shake  the  pur- 
pose of  the  night.  Too  long  had  the  trappers 
brooded  upon  the  story  of  the  White  Squaw.  Vic- 
tor knew  his  men  so  well  too;  while  they  break- 
fasted he  used  every  effort  to  encourage  them. 
He  literally  herded  them  on  by  dint  of  added  detail 
and  well-timed  praise  of  the  woman's  beauty. 

And  after  the  meal  the  sled  was  prepared.  Vic- 
tor was  chief  adviser.  He  made  them  take  a  sup- 
ply of  essences  and  "  trade."  He  told  them  of  the 
disposition  of  Man-of-the-Snow-Hill,  the  Moose- 
foot  chief,  assuring  them  he  would  sell  his  soul  for 
strong  drink.  No  encouragement  was  left  ungiven, 
and,  well  before  noon,  the  dogs  stood  ready  in  the 
traces. 

A  hearty  farewell;  then  out  upon  the  white  trail 
Nick  strung  the  willing  beasts,  and  the  flurry  of 


52  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

loose  surface-snow  that  flew  in  their  wake  hid  the 
sled  as  the  train  glided  away  to  the  far  northeast. 

Victor  stood  watching  the  receding  figures  till 
the  hiss  of  the  runners  died  down  in  the  distance, 
and  the  driving  voice  of  Nick  became  lost  in  the 
grey  solitude.  The  northern  trail  held  them  and 
he  felt  safe.  He  moved  out  upon  the  trampled 
snow,  and,  passing  round  to  the  back  of  the  store, 
disappeared  within  the  pine  wood  which  backed 
away  up  the  slope  of  the  valley. 

Later  he  came  to  where  three  huts  were  hidden 
away  amongst  the  vast  tree-trunks.  They  were  so 
placed,  and  so  disguised,  as  to  be  almost  hidden  until 
the  wanderer  chanced  right  upon  them.  These  hab- 
itations were  a  part  of  Victor's  secret  life.  There 
was  a  strange  mushroom  look  about  them;  low 
walls  of  muck-daubed  logs  supported  wide-stretch- 
ing roofs  of  reeds,  which,  in  their  turn,  supported 
a  thick  covering  of  soot-begrimed  snow.  He 
paused  near  by  and  uttered  a  low  call,  and  presently 
a  tall  girl  emerged  from  one  of  the  doors.  She 
walked  slowly  toward  him  with  proud,  erect  car- 
riage, while  at  her  heels  followed  two  fierce  husky 
dogs,  moving  with  all  the  large  dignity  of  honoured 
guards.  The  woman  was  taller  than  the  trader, 
and  her  beauty  of  figure  was  in  no  wise  hidden  by 
the  blanket  clothing  she  wore.  They  talked  ear- 


THE  QUEST  OF  THE    WHITE  SQUAW          53 

nestly  together  for  some  time,  and  then,  in  answer 
to  a  further  summons  from  Victor,  they  were 
joined  by  a  tall,  gaunt  man,  with  the  solemn  cast 
of  face  of  an  Indian,  and  a  pair  of  eyes  as  darkly 
brooding  as  those  of  a  moose.  Although  he  was 
very  dark-skinned  he  was  plainly  of  the  bastard 
race  of  his  companions,  and  a  certain  resemblance 
between  himself  and  the  woman  spoke  of  relation- 
ship. 

The  three  talked  long  and  seriously,  and  finally 
Victor  returned  alone  to  the  store.  Again  he  took 
up  his  stand  in  the  doorway  and  remained  gazing 
out  upon  the  valley  of  the  Little  Choyeuse  Creek, 
and  the  more  distant  crags  of  the  foot-hills  beyond. 

His  face  was  serious;  serious  even  for  the  wild, 
where  all  levity  seems  out  of  place,  and  laughter 
jars  upon  the  solemnity  of  the  life  and  death  strug- 
gle for  existence  which  is  for  ever  being  fought 
out  there.  On  his  brow  was  a  pucker  of  deep 
thought,  whilst  his  eyes  shone  with  a  look  which 
seemed  to  have  gathered  from  his  surroundings 
much  of  the  cunning  which  belongs  to  the  creatures 
of  the  forest.  His  usual  expression  of  good-fellow- 
ship had  passed ;  and  in  its  place  appeared  a  hungry, 
avaricious  look  which,  although  always  there,  was 
generally  hidden  behind  a  superficial  geniality.  Vic- 
tor had  hitherto  lived  fairly  honestly  because  there 


54  W  THE  BROODING    WILD 

was  little  or  no  temptation  to  do  otherwise  where 
his  trading-post  was  stationed.  But  it  was  not  his 
nature  to  do  so.  And  as  he  stood  gazing  out  upon 
the  rugged  picture  before  him  he  knew  he  was  quite 
unobserved ;  and  so  the  rough  soul  within  him  was 
laid  bare  to  the  grey  light  of  the  world. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

THE    HOODED    MAN 

THE  mere  suggestion  of  the  possibility  of  a 
woman's  presence  had  rudely  broken  up  the  even 
calm  of  Ralph  and  Nick  Westley's  lives.  To  turn 
back  to  the  peace  of  their  mountain  home  without 
an  effort  to  discover  so  fair  and  strange  a  creature 
as  this  White  Squaw  would  have  been  impossible. 

These  men  had  known  no  real  youth.  They  had 
fought  the  battle  of  life  from  the  earliest  childhood, 
they  had  lived  lives  as  dispassionate  and  cold  as  the 
glaciers  of  their  mountain  home.  Recreation  was 
almost  unknown  to  them.  Toil,  unremitting,  ar- 
duous, had  been  their  lot.  Thus  Nature  had  been 
defied;  and  now  she  was  coming  back  on  them  as 
inevitably  as  the  sun  rises  and  sets,  and  the  seasons 
come  and  go.  They  failed  to  realize  their  danger; 
they  had  no  understanding  of  the  passions  that 
moved  them,  and  so  they  hurried  headlong  upon 
the  trail  that  was  to  lead  them  they  knew  not 

55 


56  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

whither,  but  which  was  shadowed  by  disaster  every 
foot  of  the  way.  To  them  temptation  was  irre- 
sistible for  they  had  never  known  the  teaching  of 
restraint ;  it  was  the  passionate  rending  of  the  bonds 
which  had  all  too  long  stifled  their  youth. 

Even  the  dogs  realized  the  change  in  their  mas- 
ters. Nick's  lash  fell  heavily  and  frequently,  and  the 
hardy  brutes,  who  loved  the  toil  of  the  trace,  and 
the  incessant  song  of  the  trailing  sled,  fell  to  won- 
dering at  the  change,  and  the  pace  they  were  called 
upon  to  make.  It  was  not  their  nature  to  complain ; 
their  pride  was  the  stubborn,  unbending  pride  of 
savage  power,  and  their  reply  to  the  wealing  thong 
was  always  the  reply  their  driver  sought.  Faster 
and  faster  they  journeyed  as  the  uncooling  ardour 
of  their  master's  spirits  rose. 

The  snow  lay  thick  and  heavy,  and  every  inch  of 
the  wild,  unmeasured  trail  had  to  be  broken.  The 
Northland  giants  thronged  about  them,  glistening 
in  their  impenetrable  armour  and  crested  by  the 
silvery  burnish  of  their  glacial  headpieces.  They 
frowned  vastly,  yet  with  a  sublime  contempt,  at  the 
puny  intrusion  of  their  solitude.  But  the  fiery  spirit 
impelling  the  brothers  was  a  power  which  defied 
the  overwhelming  grandeur  of  the  mountain  world, 
and  rendered  insignificant  the  trials  they  encoun- 
tered. The  cry  was  "  On !  "  and  the  dogs  laboured 


THE  HOODED  MAN  57 

as  only  these  burden-bearers  of  the  North  can 
labour. 

The  dark  day  ripened ;  and,  as  the  dull  sun  crept 
out  from  behind  the  greyness,  and  revealed  the 
frost  in  the  air,  the  temperature  dropped  lower  and 
lower.  And  the  animal  world  peeped  furtively  out 
upon  the  strange  sight  of  creatures  like  themselves 
toiling  at  the  command  of  beings  whose  voices  had 
not  even  the  power  to  smite  the  mountainsides  with 
boastful  defiance  as  theirs  were  wont  to  do. 

Then  the  daylight  waned.  The  sky  returned  to 
its  greyness  as  the  night  shades  rose,  and  a  bitter 
breeze  shuddered  through  the  woods  and  along  the 
valleys.  The  sounds  of  the  forest  rose  in  mournful 
cadence,  and,  as  the  profundity  of  the  mountain 
night  settled  heavily  upon  the  world,  the  timber- 
wolf,  the  outlaw  of  the  region,  moved  abroad,  lift- 
ing his  voice  in  a  cry  half-mournful,  half-exultant. 

Camp  was  pitched  well  clear  of  the  forest  and  a 
large  fire  kindled;  and  the  savage  night-prowlers 
drew  forth  from  the  woodland  shadows.  The  men 
proceeded  silently  with  their  various  tasks.  Ralph 
prepared  their  own  food,  and  soon  a  savoury  odour 
tickled  the  nostrils  of  those  beyond  the  circle  of  the 
firelight.  Nick  thawed  out  the  dogs'  evening  meal 
and  distributed  it  impartially,  standing  over  the 
hungry  beasts  with  a  club  to  see  that  each  got  the 


58  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

full  benefit  of  his  portion.  It  was  a  strange  sight 
for  the  furtive  eyes  that  looked  on,  and  a  tantalizing 
one,  but  they  dared  not  draw  near,  for  the  fire 
threatened  them,  and,  besides,  they  possessed  a  keen 
instinct  of  caution. 

After  supper  the  men  rested  in  spells,  one  always 
sitting  up  by  the  fire  whilst  the  other  slept  in  the 
comfort  of  his  fur-lined  "  Arctic  bag."  And  pres- 
ently the  blackness  about  lightened,  and  the  dark 
shadows  prowling  became  visible  to  the  eyes  of  the 
sentry.  The  moon  had  risen,  but  was  still  hidden 
somewhere  behind  the  great  mountains.  Its  light 
had  effect,  that  was  all.  And  as  the  night  wore  on 
the  shadows  grew  bolder  and  their  presence  kept  the 
sentry  ever  on  the  alert.  For  the  most  part  he  sat 
still,  swathed  to  the  eyes  in  his  furs;  he  huddled 
down  over  the  fire  smoking,  every  now  and  then 
pausing  to  thaw  the  nicotine  in  the  stem  of  his  pipe. 
But  his  eyes  seemed  to  be  watching  in  every  direc- 
tion at  once.  Nor  was  the  vaguest  shadow  lost  to 
their  quick  flashing  glances. 

The  dogs,  sleeping  in  their  snow-burrows,  rested 
their  muscles,  dreaming  peacefully  of  happy  hunt- 
ing-grounds. Their  safety  was  assured  under  the 
watchful  eyes  of  their  masters;  the  forest  world 
had  no  terrors  for  them. 

Towards  dawn  Nick  was  on  the  watch.     The 


THE  HOODED  MAW  59 

aspect  of  the  night  had  quite  changed.  The  moon, 
large,  full,  brilliant,  was  directly  overhead,  and  the 
stars,  like  magnificent  dewdrops,  hung  richly  in 
the  sky.  Away  to  the  north,  just  clear  of  a  stretch 
of  heaven-high  peaks,  the  scintillating  shafts  of  the 
northern  lights  shuddered  convulsively,  like  skele- 
ton arms  outstretched  to  grasp  the  rich  gems  which 
hung  just  beyond  their  reach.  The  moving  shad- 
ows had  changed  to  material  forms.  Lank,  gaunt, 
hungry-looking  beasts  crowded  just  beyond  the 
fire-lit  circle;  shaggy-coated  creatures,  with  manes 
a-bristle  and  baleful  eyes  which  gazed  angrily  upon 
the  camp. 

Nick  saw  all  these;  could  have  counted  them,  so 
watchful  was  he.  The  wolves  were  of  small  account, 
but  there  were  other  creatures  which  needed  his  most 
vigilant  attention.  Twice  in  the  night  he  had  seen 
two  green-glowing  eyes  staring  down  upon  him 
from  among  the  branches  of  one  of  the  trees  on  the 
edge  of  the  forest.  He  knew  those  eyes,  as  who  of 
his  calling  would  not ;  a  puma  was  crouching  along 
the  wide-spreading  bough. 

He  stealthily  drew  his  gun  towards  him.  He  was 
in  the  act  of  raising  it  to  his  shoulder  when  the  eyes 
were  abruptly  withdrawn.  The  time  passed  on.  He 
knew  that  the  puma  had  not  departed,  and  he 
waited,  ready.  The  eyes  reappeared.  Up  leapt  the 


6O  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

rifle,  but  ere  his  hand  had  compressed  the  trigger  a 
sound  from  behind  arrested  him.  His  head  turned 
instantly,  and,  gazing  through  the  light,  drifting 
fire  smoke,  he  beheld  the  outline  of  a  monstrous 
figure  bearing  down  upon  the  camp  in  an  almost 
human  manner.  In  size  the  newcomer  dwarfed  the 
trapper ;  it  came  slowly  with  a  shuffling  gait.  Sud- 
denly it  dropped  to  all-fours  and  came  on  quicker. 
Nick  hesitated  only  for  a  second.  His  mouth  set 
firmly  and  his  brows  contracted.  He  knew  that  at 
all  hazards  he  must  settle  the  puma  first.  He 
glanced  at  the  sleeping  Ralph.  He  was  about  to 
rouse  him;  then  he  changed  his  mind  and  swung 
round  upon  the  puma,  leaving  the  fire  between  him- 
self and  the  other.  He  took  a  long  and  deadly  aim. 
The  glowing  eyes  offered  a  splendid  target  and  he 
knew  he  must  not  miss.  A  report  rang  out,  fol- 
lowed almost  instantaneously  by  a  piteous,  half- 
human  shriek  of  pain;  then  came  the  sound  of  a 
body  falling,  and  the  eyes  had  vanished.  After 
firing  Nick  swung  round  to  the  figure  beyond  the 
fire.  It  loomed  vast  in  the  yellow  light  and  was 
reared  to  its  full  height  not  ten  yards  away.  A 
low,  snarling  growl  came  from  it,  and  the  sound  was 
dreadful  in  its  suppressed  ferocity.  Ralph  was  now 
sitting  up  gazing  at  the  oncoming  brute,  —  a  mag- 


THE  HOODED  MAN  6 1 

nificent  grizzly.  Nick  stooped,  seized  a  blazing  log 
from  the  fire,  and  dashed  out  to  meet  the  intruder. 

It  was  a  strange  and  impressive  sight,  this  en- 
counter of  man  and  beast.  But  Nick,  with  his  wide 
experience,  was  master  of  the  situation.  He  boldly 
went  up  to  within  two  yards  of  his  savage  and  fear- 
less foe  and  dashed  the  burning  brand  into  the 
creature's  face.  Down  dropped  the  grizzly  upon 
all-fours  again,  and,  with  a  roar  of  pain  and  terror, 
ambled  hastily  away  into  the  forest. 

"B'ar?"  questioned  Ralph,  from  the  shelter  of 
his  fur  bag. 

"  Yes  —  an'  puma,"  replied  Nick  unconcernedly, 
as  he  returned  to  his  seat  to  await  the  coming  of 
morning. 

And  so  the  long  night  passed,  and  the  slow  day 
broke  over  the  bleak,  pitiless  world.  The  dogs 
awoke,  and  clambered  from  their  warm,  snowy 
couches.  The  routine  of  the  "  long  trail  "  obtained, 
and  once  more  the  song  of  the  sled  rang  out  at  the 
heels  of  the  eager  beasts. 

Nor  was  the  short  day  and  long  weary  night  in 
such  a  region  without  effect  upon  the  men.  A  feel- 
ing of  superstitious  uneasiness  seized  upon  Nick. 
He  said  nothing,  he  was  possibly  too  ashamed  of  it 
to  do  so,  but  the  dread  steadily  grew,  and  no  effort 
of  his  seemed  to  have  power  to  dispel  it.  As  he 


62  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

moved  along  beside  his  dogs  he  would  shoot  swift, 
fearful  glances  at  the  heights  above,  or  back  over 
the  trail,  or  on  ahead  to  some  deep,  dark  gorge  they 
might  be  approaching.  He  grew  irritable.  The 
darkness  of  the  woods  would  sometimes  hold  his 
attention  for  hours,  while  the  expression  of  his  eyes 
would  tell  of  the  strange  thoughts  passing  behind 
them.  And  Ralph,  though  more  unemotional  than 
his  brother,  was  scarcely  less  affected.  It  was  star- 
tling in  such  men,  yet  was  it  hardly  to  be  wondered 
at  in  so  overpowering  a  waste. 

It  was  still  the  morning  of  the  second  day. 
Nick's  whip  had  been  silent  for  a  long  time.  His 
eyes  were  gazing  out  afar.  Sometimes  up  at  the 
lowering  sky,  where  the  peaks  were  lost  in  a  sea 
of  dark  cloud,  sometimes  down,  with  a  brooding 
fire,  into  the  forest  depths.  Ralph  had  observed 
the  change  in  his  brother  and  sympathy  prompted 
him  to  draw  up  alongside  him. 

"  What's  ailin'  ye?  "  he  asked. 

Nick  shook  his  head;  he  could  not  say  that  any- 
thing ailed  him. 

"  Thought,  maybe  ther'  was  somethin'  amiss," 
went  on  his  brother,  half-apologetically.  He  felt 
himself  that  he  must  talk. 

Then  Nick  was  seized  with  a  desire  to  confide  in 
the  only  lifelong  friend  he  had  ever  known. 


THE  HOODED  MAN  63 

"Ther'  ain't  nothin'  amiss,  zac'ly,"  he  said. 
And  he  got  no  farther. 

"Hah!" 

Ralph  looked  round  sharply.  It  seemed  as  if 
something  were  stirring  about  him.  He  waited 
expectantly.  There  was  nothing  unusual  in  sight. 
A  wild  panorama  of  snowy  grandeur;  mountain 
and  valley  and  wood,  that  was  all. 

They  traipsed  on  in  silence,  but  now  they  jour- 
neyed side  by  side.  Both  men  were  strangely 
moved.  Both  had  heard  of  the  "  Dread  of  the 
Wild,"  but  they  would  have  scoffed  at  the  idea  of 
its  assailing  them.  But  the  haunting  clung,  and  at 
each  step  they  felt  that  the  next  might  be  the  signal 
for  a  teeming  spirit  life  to  suddenly  break  up  the 
dreadful  calm. 

They  passed  a  hollow  where  the  snow  was  unusu- 
ally deep  and  soft.  The  dogs  laboured  wearily. 
They  reached  the  rising  end  of  it,  and  toiled  up  the 
sharp  ascent.  The  top  was  already  in  sight  and  a 
fresh  vista  of  the  interminable  peaks  broke  up  their 
view.  Without  apparent  reason  Nick  suddenly 
drew  up  and  a  sharp  exclamation  broke  from  him. 
The  dogs  lay  down  in  the  traces,  and  both  men 
gazed  back  into  the  hollow  they  had  left.  Nick 
towered  erect,  and,  with  eyes  staring,  pointed  at  a 
low  hill  on  the  other  side  of  it. 


64  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

Ralph  followed  the  direction  of  the  outstretched 
arm.  And  as  he  looked  he  held  his  breath,  for  some- 
thing seemed  to  grip  his  throat. 

Then  a  moment  later  words,  sounding  hoarse  and 
stifled,  came  from  the  depths  of  his  storm-collar. 

"Who --who  is  it?" 

Nick  did  not  answer.  Both  were  staring  out 
across  the  hollow  at  the  tall  motionless  figure  of  a 
man,  and  their  eyes  were  filled  with  an  expression 
of  painful  awe.  The  figure  was  aggressively  dis- 
tinct, silhouetted  as  it  was  against  a  barren,  snow- 
clad  crag.  They  might  have  been  gazing  at  a 
statue,  so  still  the  figure  stood.  It  was  enveloped 
in  fur,  so  far  as  the  watchers  could  tell,  but  what 
impressed  them  most  was  the  strange  hood  which 
covered  the  head.  The  figure  was  too  distant  for 
them  to  have  distinguished  the  features  of  the  face 
had  they  been  visible,  but,  as  it  was,  they  were  lost 
within  the  folds  of  the  grey  hood. 

There  came  an  ominous  click  from  behind.  Ralph 
turned  suddenly  and  seized  his  brother's  arm  as  he 
was  in  the  act  of  raising  his  rifle  to  his  shoulder. 
The  gun  was  lowered,  and  the  intense  face  of  Nick 
scowled  at  the  author  of  the  interruption. 

"  It's  —  it  ain't  a  human  crittur,"  he  said 
hoarsely. 


THE  HOODED  MAN  6$ 

"  It's  a  man/'  retorted  Ralph,  without  releasing 
his  hold. 

And  the  two  brothers  became  silent. 

They  stood  watching  for  a  long  time.  Neither 
spoke  again,  they  had  nothing  to  say.  Their 
thoughts  occupied  them  with  strange  apprehension 
while  the  dogs  sprawled  in  the  snow  in  the  spirit- 
less manner  of  their  kind  when  the  labour  of  the 
traces  is  not  demanded  of  them.  The  figure  on  the 
hill  stood  quite  still.  The  silence  of  the  wild  was 
profound.  No  wind  stirred  to  relieve  it,  and  even 
under  their  warm  furs  the  two  men  watching  shiv- 
ered as  with  cold. 

At  last  the  movement  they  had  awaited  came. 
The  Hooded  Man  turned  towards  them.  One  long 
arm  was  raised  and  he  pointed  away  at  a  tall  hill. 
Then  his  arm  moved,  and  he  seemed  to  be  pointing 
out  certain  landmarks  for  his  own  benefit.  Again, 
on  a  sudden,  as  he  fronted  the  direction  where  the 
brothers  stood,  he  dropped  his  arm,  and,  a  moment 
later,  disappeared  on  the  other  side  of  the  hill.  The 
two  men  remained  gazing  out  across  the  hollow 
for  some  while  longer,  but  as  the  Hooded  Man  did 
not  return  they  turned  back  to  their  dogs  and  con- 
tinued their  journey. 

Nick  shook  his  head  in  a  dissatisfied  manner. 


66  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

Ralph  said  nothing  for  awhile.    He  was  beginning 
to  doubt  his  own  assertion. 

The  dogs  leapt  at  their  breast-draws  and  the  sled 
moved  forward.  The  two  men  ran  side  by  side. 
When  Nick  at  length  spoke  it  was  to  reiterate  his 
fears. 

"  Ther'  wa'n't  no  face  showed,"  he  said  abruptly. 

"  No/'  replied  Ralph.  Then  he  added  thought- 
fully :  "  He  hadn't  no  dogs,  neither." 

"  He  was  alone,  seemly.  Ther'  wa'n't  no  camp 
outfit." 

Ralph  shook  his  head  and  brushed  away  the  ice 
about  his  mouth  with  the  back  of  his  beaver  mitt. 

There  was  a  painful  atmosphere  of  disquiet  about 
the  two  men.  Their  backward  glances  spoke  far 
louder  than  words.  Had  their  mission  been  in 
the  nature  of  their  ordinary  calling  they  would 
possibly  have  felt  nothing  but  curiosity,  and  their 
curiosity  would  have  led  them  to  investigate  further, 
but  as  it  was,  all  their  inclinations  tended  in  the 
opposite  direction.  "  The  Dread  of  the  Wild  "  had 
come  to  them. 

When  they  camped  at  midday  things  were  no 
better.  They  had  seen  nothing  more  to  disturb 
them,  but  the  thoughts  of  both  had  turned  upon 
the  night,  so  long  and  drear,  which  was  to  come; 
and  the  "  dread  "  grew  stronger. 


THE  HOODED  MAN  6/ 

After  the  noon  meal  Nick  harnessed  the  dogs 
while  Ralph  stowed  the  chattels.  They  were  on  a 
hillside  overlooking  a  wide  valley  of  unbroken  for- 
est. All  was  ready  for  a  start  and  Nick  gave  a 
wide,  comprehensive  glance  around.  The  magic 
word  "  Mush,"  which  would  send  the  dogs  head- 
long at  their  breast  harness,  hovered  on  his  lips, 
but  ere  he  gave  it  utterance  it  changed  into  an 
ejaculation  of  horror. 

"  By  Gar!  "  Then  after  a  thrilling  pause,  "  The 
Hood!" 

Ralph,  standing  ready  to  break  the  sled  out, 
turned. 

"  Hey ! "  he  ejaculated ;  and  horror  was  in  his 
tone,  too. 

There,  in  the  hazy  distance,  more  than  three  miles 
away,  was  the  dim  figure  of  the  Hooded  Man 
racing  over  the  snow.  His  course  lay  on  the  far 
side  of  the  valley  and  he  was  to  the  rear  of  them. 

Nick  turned  back  to  the  dogs,  the  command 
"  Mush ! "  rang  out  with  biting  emphasis,  and  the 
dogs  and  men,  as  though  both  were  animated  by  the 
same  overwhelming  fear,  raced  down  the  virgin 
trail.  Their  pace  was  a  headlong  flight. 

Night  came,  and  they  camped  in  the  open.  The 
night  was  blacker,  and  longer,  more  weary  and 
shadowy  than  the  first,  by  reason  of  the  "  dread  " 


68  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

which  had  now  become  the  "  Dread  of  the  Hooded 
Man."  Even  thoughts  of  the  White  Squaw  took  a 
secondary  place  in  the  minds  of  the  brothers,  for, 
at  every  turn,  they  felt  that  their  steps  were  dogged 
by  that  other  strange  creature  of  the  wild.  When 
morning  came  they  knew,  without  looking,  that 
somewhere,  coldly  surveying  their  camp,  the  grey- 
hooded  figure  would  be  watching  and  waiting  for 
them  to  move  on.  And  sure  enough,  as  the  eager 
eyes  looked  out  over  the  snow  and  forest,  the  grim, 
silent  figure  was  there,  watching,  watching ;  but  no 
nearer  to  them. 

That  night  they  came  to  the  Moosefoot  Reserve, 
and  both  men  experienced  such  nervous  relief  as 
they  had  never  before  known.  They  camped  within 
sight  of  the  Indian  teepees  and  log  huts,  but  they 
waited  for  morning  before  they  approached  the 
chief. 

Over  their  fire  they  discussed  their  plans  with 
seriousness.  Neither  of  them  could  speak  the 
Moosefoot  language,  but  they  could  talk  both  Sioux 
and  Cree,  and  they  did  not  doubt  but  there  would 
be  interpreters  about  the  chief. 

"  We'll  see  him  first  thing,  I  guess,*'  said  the 
eager  Nick.  "  Guess  them  two  black  foxes'll  fix 
him  good.  He'll  git  a  goodish  bit  o'  trade  for  'em." 

"  An'  we'll  promise  him  powder,  an'  slugs,  an' 


THE  HOODED  MAN  69 

essences,"  said  the  cautious  Ralph.  "  We'll  get  his 
yarn  first  an'  pay  after,"  he  added,  as  he  sipped  his 
coffee. 

Nick  nodded. 

"  We'll  fin'  that  crittur,  sure,"  he  said* 

And  he  sat  gazing  upon  the  pictures  his  mind 
conjured  up  as  he  watched  the  flaming  logs.  In 
every  tongue  of  flame  he  beheld  the  glowing  face 
Victor  had  told  them  of,  and,  as  the  smoke  rolled 
up  into  the  black  vault  of  night,  he  seemed  to  see 
the  elusive  form  of  the  White  Squaw  floating  in 
its  midst.  Ralph's  slower  imagination  was  less 
fantastically,  but  no  less  deeply,  stirred. 

At  daybreak  they  sought  Man-of-the-Snow-Hill's 
lodge.  They  found  him  a  grizzled  wreck  of  extreme 
age.  He  was  surrounded  by  his  medicine-men,  his 
young  chiefs  and  his  squaws.  And  by  the  gathering 
in  the  smoke-begrimed  hut  they  knew  that  their 
approach  had  been  made  known. 

Perfect  silence  reigned  as  the  white  men  entered. 
An  Indian  silence ;  such  silence  as  it  would  be  hard 
to  find  anywhere  but  in  the  primitive  dwelling.  The 
atmosphere  of  the  place  was  heavy  with  the  pungent 
odours  of  Killi-ka-nik.  Both  men  and  women  were 
smoking  it  in  pipes  of  red  clay  with  reed  stems,  and 
they  passed  this  sign  of  friendship  from  one  to 
another  in  solemn  fashion.  All  were  clad  in  the 


70  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

parti-coloured  blanket,  and  sat  hunched  upon  their 
quarters  more  like  beasts  than  human  creatures, 
yet  with  that  perfect  air  of  dignity  which  the  Indian 
seldom  loses. 

Man-of-the-Snow-Hill  alone  differed  in  his  dress 
and  attitude.  He  was  wrapped  in  a  large  buffalo 
robe,  and  was  stretched  out  upon  a  pile  of  skins  to 
ease  his  rheumatics,  while,  spread  out  before  him, 
were  a  number  of  charms  and  much  "  med'cine," 
which  had  been  so  set  by  his  wise  men  to  alleviate 
his  ailments.  In  the  centre  of  the  throng  a  fire 
smouldered,  and  the  smoke  therefrom  rose  sullenly 
upon  the  dense  air  and  drifted  out  through  a  hole 
in  the  flat  roof.  Man-of-the-Snow-Hill  blinked  his 
watery  eyes  as  the  strangers  entered,  and  passed  his 
pipe  to  his  favourite  squaw,  a  buxom,  sleepy-eyed 
beauty  who  sat  upon  his  right.  Then  he  grunted 
intelligently  as  he  saw  the  visitors  deposit  their  pile 
of  presents  upon  the  floor,  and,  in  the  manner  of  the 
neche,  seat  themselves  beside  it. 

Ralph  spoke  his  greeting  in  Indian  fashion. 
.    "  How,"  he  said. 

"  How ! "  replied  Man-of-the-Snow-Hill,  in  a 
thin,  reedy  voice.  And  his  followers  echoed  the 
sentiment  in  chorus. 

Then  the  aged  chief  held  out  his  hand  in  further 


THE  HOODED  MAN  fl 

greeting.  And  each  neche  in  turn  shook  the  white 
men  by  the  hand. 

The  visitors  filled  and  lighted  their  pipes,  and 
passed  their  plugs  of  tobacco  to  the  others.  Then 
Ralph  began  to  speak  in  Cree. 

"  We  come  far  to  speak  with  Man-of-the-Snow- 
Hill,"  he  began. 

The  watery-eyed  chief  shook  his  head,  grunting. 
The  squaws  laughed,  and  the  med'cine-men  closed 
their  eyes  in  sign  of  not  understanding  the  tongue 
in  which  he  spoke.  Then  a  young  chief  harangued 
his  comrades.  He  could  understand  the  tongue 
and  would  interpret.  The  old  chief  nodded  approval 
and  continued  to  gaze  greedily  at  the  presents. 

Now  the  conversation  proceeded  quite  smoothly. 

"We  wish  to  speak  with  the  great  Man-of-the- 
Snow-Hill  in  private,"  Ralph  said.  "We  have 
much  to  say,  and  many  presents." 

The  chief  blinked  with  satisfaction,  and  grunted 
appreciation.  His  lined  face  lit  up.  He  waved  one 
shaking  arm  and  his  followers  reluctantly  departed. 
All  except  the  interpreter  and  the  chief  squaw. 

Then  Ralph  went  on.  Nick  had  care  of  the  pres- 
ents, and  on  him  the  cunning  old  chief  kept  his 
eyes.  He  opened  a  large  bag  of  beads  and  emptied 
some  on  a  spread  of  cheap  print.  The  squaw's 
eyes  smiled  greedily. 


?2  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

"We  wish  the  great  chief  well,"  said  Ralph, 
using  all  the  flowery  embellishments  of  the  Cree 
tongue,  "  and  we  would  live  in  peace.  We  have 
tobacco,  beads,  skins,  prints,  and  blankets.  And 
we  would  lay  them  all  at  the  feet  of  the  great  man, 
the  mighty  hunter,  if  he  would  help  us  to  find  that 
which  we  seek." 

Ralph  signed  to  his  brother  and  Nick  laid  out 
an  array  of  presents  and  passed  them  with  due 
solemnity  to  the  old  man. 

"  Ow-ow !  "  grunted  Man-of-the-Snow-Hill,  as 
he  waved  the  things  away  to  his  squaw.  He  was  not 
satisfied,  and  his  eyes  watered  as  though  he  were 
weeping. 

Then  Ralph  went  on. 

"  We  have  come  on  the  '  long  trail '  through  the 
mountains.  And  we  seek  the  White  Squaw  of  the 
Moosefoot  Indians." 

The  chief  remained  quite  calm,  but  his  bleared 
old  eyes  shot  a  sidelong  gleam  at  the  speaker  in 
which  there  was  little  friendliness.  No  other  move- 
ment was  allowed  to  give  evidence  of  disquiet.  It 
is  part  of  the  upbringing  of  the  neche  to  eschew  all 
outward  signs  of  emotion.  The  Sun  Dance,  when 
the  braves  are  made,  is  the  necessary  education  in 
this  direction.  Ralph  saw  the  look  but  failed  to  take 
its  meaning.  The  squaw  watched  the  white  men 


THE  HOODED  MAN  73 

with  keen  interest.  Nick  was  groping  about  in  the 
depths  of  a  gunny-sack. 

Ralph  plunged  into  the  fantastic  story  which  he 
and  Nick  had  prepared.  The  language  of  the  Cree 
helped  him,  for  the  natural  colouring  of  the  Indian 
tongues  is  as  flowery  as  that  of  any  Eastern  race. 

"  We  come  from  beyond  the  mountains,  from  the 
hunting-grounds  of  forest  and  river  where  the  great 
fathers  of  the  Moosefoot  Indians  dwelt.  We  come 
to  tell  the  White  Squaw  that  the  land  cries  out  for 
her,  and  the  return  of  the  children  of  the  Moose. 
We  come  to  speak  with  her  of  these  things,  for  the 
time  has  come  when  she  must  leave  her  forest  home 
and  return  to  her  own  land.  Man-of-the- Snow-Hill 
must  show  us  the  way.  We  have  many  presents 
which  we  will  give  him." 

"  It  is  well,"  said  the  great  man,  closing  his  eyes 
while  the  water  oozed  from  between  the  compressed 
lids.  "  The  white  men  are  the  friends  of  the  Moose- 
foot  people,  and  they  have  many  presents.  Have 
they  fire-water?  " 

Nick  produced  some  bottles  and  the  great  man 
reached  for  them  greedily.  But  the  other  withheld 
them. 

"What  will  Man-of-the-Snow-Hill  do  for  the 
fire-water  ?  "  Ralph  asked. 

The  interpreter  passed  the  word. 


74  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

"  He  will  send  his  favourite  squaw  to  guide  the 
white  men,"  he  answered  at  once.  "  He  can  do 
no  more." 

A  dozen  bottles  of  vanilla  essence  passed  over 
to  the  chief.  A  number  of  other  presents  were 
handed  to  him.  Then  without  a  word  the  squaw 
arose  and  accompanied  the  white  men  out. 

And  without  further  delay  the  brothers  continued 
their  journey.  Fleet  of  foot,  untiring,  silent  as  only 
an  Indian  woman  can  be,  the  squaw  led  the  way. 
North,  north ;  always  north  they  travelled,  over  hill, 
through  forest  and  deep  white  valley,  without  let-up 
to  their  eager  speed.  The  superstitious  dread  which 
had  hitherto  so  afflicted  the  white  men  now  fell  away 
from  them.  Night  came  on  swift  and  silent,  and 
camp  was  pitched  on  the  edge  of  a  dense  forest. 

Ere  the  daylight  had  quite  died  out  the  squaw 
took  the  two  men  to  the  crest  of  a  hill.  She  looked 
out  across  the  virgin  carpet  of  towering  pines  below 
them  and  pointed  with  one  blanket-covered  arm 
outstretched.  She  was  silent  while  she  indicated 
several  points  in  the  vast  panorama  before  her. 
Then  she  tried  to  tell  them  something. 

But  her  language  was  the  language  of  her  tribe, 
and  neither  of  the  men  could  understand  her.  Then 
she  spoke  in  the  language  of  signs,  which  all  Indians 
speak  so  well. 


THE  HOODED  MAN  75 

She  raised  her  hand,  pointing  eastward,  till  it 
reached  a  point  directly  overhead.  Then  she 
pointed  to  her  feet,  and  her  hand  moved  slowly  in 
a  northern  direction,  after  which  she  made  a  run- 
ning movement  with  her  feet.  Then  she  bent  her 
body  ana  appeared  to  be  gazing  about  her,  search- 
ing. Finally  she  pointed  to  two  very  large  trees 
which  stood  out  apart  from  their  fellows.  Then 
again  came  the  motion  of  running,  which  finished 
quickly,  and  she  pointed  first  to  Nick's  face  and  then 
to  herself.  After  that  she  stood  motionless,  with 
arms  folded  over  her  bosom.  And  the  two  men  read 
her  meaning. 

At  daylight  they  were  to  start  out  northward 
and  travel  until  midday.  Then  they  were  to  halt 
and  search  the  outskirts  of  the  forest  until  they 
found  two  mammoth  trees  standing  apart.  The 
space  between  them  was  the  mouth  of  a  pathway 
into  the  heart  of  the  forest.  They  were  to  traverse 
this  path  a  short  distance,  and  they  would  discover 
the  White  Squaw. 

Ralph  nodded  his  head  slowly  in  token  of  com- 
prehension. He  waited  to  see  if  she  had  aught 
further  to  say.  But  the  woman  remained  standing 
where  she  was,  slightly  aloof  and  with  her  arms 
folded.  Her  sleepy  eyes  were  watching  the  last 
dying  gleam  of  daylight  away  in  the  west.  Sud- 


?6  IN  THE  BROODING   WILD 

denly,  out  upon  the  still  air,  came  a  doleful  cry.  It 
was  long-drawn-out  and  mournful,  but  it  travelled 
as  mountain  cries  will  travel.  It  came  waving  upon 
the  air  with  a  certain  rise  and  fall  in  it  like  the  rip- 
pling of  water.  It  rose  up,  up,  and  then  lingeringly 
died  out.  The  men  listened,  and  looked  in  the  direc- 
tion whence  it  came,  and,  as  they  looked, ,  a  feeling 
of  awe  swept  over  them.  In  a  rush  the  old  "  dread  " 
awoke,  and  their  gaze  was  filled  with  the  expression 
of  it. 

Out  to  the  west  the  forest  lay  gloomy,  brooding; 
and  within  a  few  hundred  yards  of  them  stood  the 
mighty  sentry  trees  which  the  squaw  had  pointed 
out.  But  now  between  them,  breaking  up  the  dead 
white  carpet  which  covered  the  earth,  the  tall  form 
of  the  Hooded  Man  stood  silhouetted.  Grim  and 
ghostly  he  looked,  as,  motionless,  he  gazed  upon 
the  watchers. 

With  the  instinct  of  self-defence  which  the  wild 
teaches  so  insistently,  Nick  unslung  his  rifle.  Ere 
Ralph  could  stay  him  the  shot  rang  out,  echoing 
away  over  the  tree-tops.  The  figure  had  disap- 
peared, and  the  unblemished  carpet  of  snow  was 
as  it  had  been  before.  Nick  stood  aghast,  for  he 
was  a  dead  shot.  Ralph  gazed  helplessly  at  the 
spot  where  the  man  had  stood. 

Suddenly  Nick  gasped. 


THE  HOODED  MAN  77 

"  It  —  it  ain't  human." 

And  Ralph  had  no  answer  to  make. 

Then  presently  they  turned  to  where  the  Moose- 
foot  squaw  had  stood.  She,  too,  had  gone;  van- 
ished as  completely  as  had  the  Hooded  Man.  There 
was  the  trail  of  her  snow-shoes  ruffling  the  snow, 
and  the  men  ran  following  it  as  far  as  the  forest 
edge;  but  here  they  stood.  They  could  follow  no 
further.  Night  was  upon  them.  Slowly  they  re- 
turned to  camp. 

The  next  day  they  continued  their  journey  with 
almost  fanatical  persistence.  They  found  no  sentry- 
trees  such  as  the  squaw  had  described.  Forest,  yes, 
but  where  in  that  region  could  they  fail  to  find 
forest?  The  abode  of  the  White  Squaw  was  no- 
where to  be  found. 

That  night  they  decided  upon  their  next  move  in 
the  quiet,  terse  manner  of  men  who  cannot  bring 
themselves  to  speak  of  the  strange  feelings  which 
possess  them ;  who  are  ashamed  of  their  own  weak- 
ness, and  yet  must  acknowledge  it  to  themselves. 

"  An'  to-morrow  —  "  said  Nick,  glancing  appre- 
hensively around  beyond  the  fire,  over  which  they 
were  sitting,  fighting  the  deadly  cold  of  the  night. 

"  To-morrow  ?  "  echoed  Ralph. 

"  Where  ?  "  asked  Nick,  looking  away  towards  the 
south. 


78  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

Ralph  followed  the  direction  of  his  brother's  gaze. 

"  Urn."    And  he  nodded. 

"What  — south?" 

"  South." 

"  An'  the  Wh—  " 

Ralph  shook  his  head,  and  smoked  on  solemnly. 


CHAPTER   V. 

THE    WHITE   SQUAW 

DOWN  the  sharp  incline  Nick  ran  beside  his  dogs ; 
Ralph  was  close  behind.  They  were  home  once 
more  in  their  own  silent  valley,  and  were  pushing 
on  to  avoid  the  coming  snow-storm  which  the  leaden 
hue  of  the  sky  portended.  So  the  dogs  were  rushed 
along  at  a  great  pace,  for  the  dugout  was  beyond, 
a  full  hour  distant. 

It  had  been  a  weary  journey,  that  return  from 
the  quest  of  the  White  Squaw.  But  the  weariness 
had  been  mental.  The  excitement  of  their  going 
had  eaten  up  their  spirit,  and  left  them  with  a 
feeling  of  distressing  lassitude.  They  were  sobered ; 
and,  as  men  recovering  from  drunkenness,  they 
felt  ashamed,  and  their  tempers  were  uncertain. 

But  as  the  string  of  huskies  raced  down  into  the 
valley  they  knew  so  well,  yelping  a  joyful  greeting 
to  the  familiar  objects  about  them,  the  men  began 
to  feel  better,  and  less  like  those  who  are  detected 
in  unworthy  actions. 

79 


8o  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

The  dogs  emerged  upon  their  original  outward- 
bound  trail  and  pursued  it  along  the  edge  of  the 
forest.  They  needed  no  urging,  and  even  set  a 
pace  which  taxed  all  their  masters'  speed.  The 
sight  of  the  familiar  scenes  had  banished  the 
"Dread  of  the  Wild"  from  the  minds  of  the 
two  men,  and  their  spirits  rose  as  they  approached 
the  frost-bound  river  below  their  home.  There 
were  no  stealing  glances  into  the  gloomy  shelter 
of  the  woods,  no  nervous  backward  turns  of  the 
head.  They  looked  steadily  ahead  for  the  glad 
sight  of  their  home ;  and  the  snap  of  the  crisp  snow 
under  the  heavy-footed  dogs,  and  the  eager,  steady 
pull  on  the  traces  brought  a  cheerful  light  to  their 
eyes  such  as  had  not  been  there  for  days. 

But  although  they  had  failed  to  discover  the 
White  Squaw,  she  was  by  no  means  forgotten.  A 
certain  sense  of  relief  had  followed  their  first  mo- 
ments of  keen  disappointment,  but  it  was  only  a 
revulsion  of  their  strained  nerves;  thoughts  of  her 
which  were,  perhaps,  less  fiery  and  reckless,  but 
consequently  more  enduring,  still  possessed  them. 

Ralph  was  especially  calm.  He  had  thought  the 
whole  thing  over  in  his  deliberate  fashion,  and, 
finally,  admitted  to  himself  that  what  had  happened 
was  for  the  best.  Nick  was  less  easy.  His  disap- 
pointment had  slightly  soured  an  already  hasty, 


THE    WHITE  SQUAW  8 1 

t 

but  otherwise  kindly,  disposition.  He  needed 
something  of  his  brother's  calm  to  balance  him. 
But,  however,  in  both  cases,  somewhere  deep  down 
in  their  hearts  the  fateful  flame  so  strangely  kindled 
was  still  burning;  a  deep,  strong,  unquenchable 
fire. 

They  were  almost  home.  Before  them  lay  the 
frozen  waterway.  Beyond  that,  and  above,  rose 
the  hill,  on  the  face  of  which  stood  their  shack; 
and  about  them  was  the  brooding  silence,  still  and 
portentous,  but  familiar. 

The  lead-dog  plunged  down  the  bank  and  the 
rest  followed,  whilst  Ralph  and  Nick  steadied  the 
laden  sled.  The  brief  passage  was  made,  and  Nick's 
whip  drove  the  fierce,  willing  beasts  at  the  ascent 
beyond.  Then,  ere  the  sled  had  left  the  river,  and 
while  the  dogs  still  struggled  in  their  harness  to 
lift  its  nose  over  what  was  almost  a  cut-bank,  and 
when  Nick's  attention  was  most  needed,  the  whip 
suddenly  became  idle,  and  his  stock  of  driving- 
curses  changed  to  a  shout  of  alarmed  surprise. 

Down  he  dropped  upon  his  knees ;  and,  with  head 
bent  low,  examined  the  disturbed  surface  of  the 
snow.  In  an  instant  Ralph  was  at  his  side.  The 
dogs  had  ceased  to  pull  and  crouched  down  in  their 
traces.  A  strange  and  wonderful  thing  had  hap- 
pened. In  their  absence  their  valley  had  been  in- 


82  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

vaded,  and  the  indications  were  those  of  human 
agency. 

Nick  pointed,  and  his  outstretched  forefinger 
moved  slowly  over  a  footprint  indicating  the  sharp, 
clean  outline  which  the  surface  of  the  snow  still 
retained.  A  moccasin-covered  foot  had  trodden 
there;  and  the  mark  left  was  small,  smaller  than 
that  of  an  ordinary  man.  And  the  two  heads, 
almost  touching,  bent  over  it  in  silent  scrutiny. 

Presently  Ralph  raised  his  eyes  and  looked 
ahead.  Step  by  step  he  traced  the  marks  on  up 
the  hill  in  the  direction  of  the  dugout,  and,  at  last, 
silent  speculation  gave  place  to  tense,  low-spoken 
words. 

"  Injun  moccasins,"  he  said. 

"  Guess  so,  by  the  seamin'." 

"  'Tain't  a  buck  neche,  neither." 

"  No." 

There  was  an  impressive  pause,  and  the  silent 
land  seemed  weighted  down  as  with  an  atmosphere 
of  gloomy  presage.  Nick  broke  it,  and  his  voice 
had  in  it  a  harsh  ring.  The  fire  of  passion  was 
once  more  alight  in  his  eyes.. 

"  It's  a  squaw's,"  he  added. 

"  Yes,  sure ;  a  squaw's,"  and  Ralph  swallowed  a 
deep  breath  as  though  his  surroundings  stifled  him. 

A  thrill  of  emotion  moved  both  men.    There  had 


THE    WHITE  SQUAW  83 

leapt  within  them,  in  one  great,  overwhelming  tide, 
all  the  old  reckless  craze  for  the  shadowy  creature 
of  Victor's  story.  At  the  mere  suggestion  of  a 
squaw's  presence  in  that  valley  their  blood-tide 
surged  through  their  veins  like  a  torrent  of  fire,  and 
their  pulses  were  set  beating  like  sledge-hammers. 
A  squaw!  A  squaw!  That  was  their  cry.  Why 
not  the  White  Squaw? 

Whilst  Ralph  gazed  on  ahead  Nick  still  bent 
over  the  footprint.  The  delicate  shape,  the  deep 
hollow  of  the  ball  of  the  foot,  the  round  cup  which 
marked  the  heel,  and,  between  them,  the  narrow, 
shallow  indentation  which  formed  the  high-arched 
instep.  In  fancy  he  built  over  the  marks  the  tall, 
lithe,  straight-limbed  creature  Victor  had  told  them 
of.  He  saw  the  long  flowing  hair  which  fell  in 
a  shower  upon  her  shoulders;  and  the  beautiful 
eyes  blue  as  the  summer  sky.  In  a  moment  his 
tanned  face  was  transformed  and  became  radiant. 

Ralph,  the  quiet  and  thoughtful,  was  no  less 
moved.  But  he  turned  from  his  brother,  hugging 
his  own  anticipations  to  himself,  and  concealing 
them  behind  a  grim  mask  of  impassivity.  His  eyes 
were  bright  with  the  same  insistent  idea,  but  he 
told  himself  that  the  thing  was  impossible.  He 
told  himself  that  She  lived  in  the  north,  and  not 
even  the  chase  of  the  far-travelling  moose  could 


84  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

have  brought  her  hither  from  her  forest  home. 
These  things  he  said  in  his  caution,  but  he  did  not 
listen  to  the  voice  of  his  doubt,  and  his  heart  beat 
in  great  bounding  pulsations. 

Suddenly  Nick  sprang  from  the  ground,  and 
short  and  sharp  came  his  words. 

"  Let's  git  on." 

"  Ay,"  replied  Ralph,  and  he  turned  back  to  the 
sled. 

And  again  the  dogs  laid  foot  to  the  ground ;  and 
again  the  voice  of  Nick  roused  the  hollow  echoes 
of  the  shimmering  peaks;  again  the  song  of  the 
sled-runners  rose  and  fell  in  cadence  brisk  and  sharp 
on  the  still,  cold  air.  But  all  the  world  was  changed 
to  the  men.  The  stillness  was  only  the  stillness 
which  appeals  to  the  physical  senses.  There  was 
a  sensation  of  life  in  the  air;  a  feeling  of  living 
surroundings;  a  certain  knowledge  that  they  were 
no  longer  alone  in  their  valley.  A  woman  was 
present;  the  woman. 

The  widening  break  of  the  forest  gave  place  to 
a  broad  sloping  expanse  of  snow-land.  It  was  the 
hill  down  which  they  had  travelled  many  thousands 
of  times.  Above,  more  snow-laden  forest,  and 
above  that  the  steel  of  the  glacier  which  rose  till 
its  awful  limits  plunged  into  the  grey  world  of 
cloud.  The  dugout  was  not  yet  in  view;  there 


THE   WHITE  SQUAW  85 

was  a  scored  and  riven  crag,  black  and  barren, 
impervious  to  the  soft  caresses  of  velvety  snow,  to 
be  passed  ere  the  home  which  was  theirs  would 
be  sighted.  Besides,  as  yet  neither  of  the  men 
had  turned  their  eyes  from  the  trailing  footprints 
to  look  ahead.  Thus  they  came  to  the  higher 
ground. 

Now  the  barren  crag  seemed  to  thrust  itself 
out,  an  impassable  barrier;  a  mute  protest  at  fur- 
ther progress;  a  grim,  silent  warning  that  the 
home  beyond  was  no  longer  for  them,  no  longer 
the  home  they  had  always  known.  And  the  hard- 
breathing  dogs  toiled  on,  straining  at  their  breast- 
harness,  with  bodies  heaving  forward,  heads  bent 
low,  and  quarters  drooped  to  give  them  surer  pur- 
chase. They,  too,  as  though  by  instinct,  followed 
the  footprints.  As  the  marks  swung  out  to  pass 
the  jutting  cliff  the  lead-dog  followed  their  course; 
Nick,  on  the  right  of  them,  moved  wide,  and  craned 
to  obtain  a  first  view  of  the  hut.  Suddenly  he  gave 
a  great  shout.  The  dogs  dropped  in  their  harness 
and  crouched,  snarling  and  snapping,  their  jaws 
clipping  together  with  the  sound  of  castanets,  whilst 
their  wiry  manes  rose  upon  their  shoulders  bris- 
tling with  ferocity  which  had  in  it  something  of 
fear.  Ralph  reached  his  brother's  side  and  peered 
beyond  the  cliff. 


86  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

And  as  he  looked  his  breath  suddenly  ceased, 
and  one  hand  clutched  his  brother's  arm  with  a 
force  that  bruised  the  softer  flesh,  and  in  silence 
the  two  men  gaped  at  the  vision  which  they  beheld. 
There  was  what  seemed  an  endless  pause  while 
the  men  and  dogs  alike  focused  their  gaze  upon 
the  strange  apparition. 

A  figure,  calm,  serene,  stood  before  the  door 
of  the  dugout,  from  which  the  logs  had  been  re- 
moved. Like  a  sentry  "  at  ease  "  the  figure  stood 
resting  gracefully,  leaning  upon  the  muzzle  of  a 
long  rifle.  Fur  crowned  the  head  which  was  nobly 
poised,  and  a  framing  of  flowing  dark  hair  showed 
off  to  perfection  the  marble-like  whiteness  of  the 
calm,  beautiful  face.  The  robes  were  characteristic 
of  the  Northern  Indians;  beads,  buckskin  and  fur. 
A  tunic  reached  to  the  knees,  and  below  that  ap- 
peared "  chaps,"  which  ended  where  woollen  stock- 
ings surmounted  moosehide  moccasins. 

A  wild,  picturesque  figure  was  this  creature  of 
the  mountain  solitude;  and,  to  the  wondering  eyes 
of  the  two  men,  something  which  filled  them  with 
superstitious  awe  and  a  primitive  gladness  that  was 
almost  overpowering.  The  dogs  alone  seemed  to 
resent  the  intrusion.  There  was  no  joy  in  their 
attitude  which  was  one  of  angry  protest. 

Nick  broke  the  silence. 


THE    WHITE  SQUAW  87 

"  White  —  white,"  he  murmured,  without  knowl- 
edge that  he  spoke  aloud. 

Ralph's  face  was  working.  His  excitement,  slow 
to  rise,  now  overwhelmed  him,  and  he  answered  in 
a  similar  tone. 

"That  hair,"  he  muttered.  "Dark,  dark;  an' 
them  chaps  wi'  beads  of  Injun  patte'n.  An'  the 
muzzle-loadin'  weapin." 

Nick  took  up  the  argument  as  his  brother  broke 
off, 

"  It's  a  squaw,  too." 

"  Her  eyes,  he  says,  was  blue,"  Ralph  murmured, 
breathing  hard. 

"  An'  she  was  leanin'  on  a  gun,"  Nick  added 
softly. 

"It's  —  " 

"By  Gar!    It  is!" 

Nick  turned  to  the  dogs  with  the  wild  impetuosity 
of  a  man  who  knows  not  the  meaning  of  patience. 
His  fiery  orders  fairly  hurled  the  brutes  at  their 
task,  and  the  sled  leapt  forward.  On,  on,  they 
sped,  till  they  halted  within  a  few  yards  of  the 
silent  figure. 

The  woman  showed  no  signs  of  fear,  a  matter 
which  both  men  set  down  to  the  fact  that  she  was 
a  queen  among  her  own  people.  She  still  stood 
in  the  position  in  which  she  had  watched  their  ap- 


88  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

proach.  There  was  not  a  quiver  of  the  delicate 
eyelids,  not  a  tremor  of  the  perfect  mouth.  Proud, 
haughty,  and  masked  by  the  impassivity  of  the 
Indian  races,  she  awaited  the  coming  of  the  stran- 
gers. 

And  as  men  and  dogs  halted  there  was  an  awk- 
wardness. How  should  they  address  her?  They 
consulted,  and  their  whisperings  were  loud  enough 
to  reach  her  ears.  They  did  not  attempt  to  suppress 
their  tones  unduly.  This  woman,  they  knew,  did 
not  understand  the  tongue  of  the  whites,  and  prob- 
ably knew  only  the  language  of  the  Moosefoot 
people.  Therefore  they  spoke  unguardedly.  They 
admitted  to  each  other  the  woman's  identity.  Ralph 
was  for  speaking  to  her  in  Cree;  Nick  for  the 
language  of  signs.  And  while  they  talked  the 
woman  looked  on.  Had  they  been  keenly  ob- 
servant they  would  have  seen  the  shadow  of  an 
occasional  smile  curl  the  corners  of  her  beautiful 
lips.  As  it  was  they  saw  only  the  superb  form,  and 
eyes  so  wondrously  blue,  shining  like  sapphires 
from  an  oval  face  framed  with  waves  of  black  hair. 

At  last  Ralph  advanced  toward  her. 

"  You're  welcome  to  our  shack,"  he  said,  in  Cree. 

The  woman  shook  her  beautiful  head,  but  smiled 
upon  him;  and  the  simple  soul  felt  the  blood  rush 
from  heart  to  head. 


THE    WHITE  SQUAW  89 

"  Try  signs/'  said  Nick  impatiently.  "  How's 
the  White  Squaw  o'  the  Moosefoots  goin'  to  savvee 
a  low-down  bat  like  Cree.  I  sed  so  'fore." 

The  blue  eyes  were  turned  on  Nick  with  a  deep 
inscrutable  smile.  Nick  felt  that  life  at  her  feet 
was  the  only  life  possible. 

And  Ralph  resorted  to  signs,  while  Nick  alter- 
nated his  attention  between  his  idolatrous,  silent 
worship  of  the  lovely  woman  and  clubbing  his  dogs 
into  quiescence.  Their  angry  protests  seemed  to 
express  something  more  abiding  than  mere  dis- 
pleasure at  the  intrusion  of  a  stranger.  They 
seemed  to  feel  a  strong  instinctive  antagonism 
toward  this  beautiful  woman. 

Ralph  persisted  with  his  signs.  The  woman  read 
them  easily  and  replied  in  her  own  sign-language, 
which  was  wonderful  to  behold.  Ralph  and  Nick 
read  it  as  though  they  were  listening  to  a  familiar 
tongue. 

She  told  them  that  she  was  Aim-sa,  which  is 
the  Moosefoot  for  "  Blue-Sky  " ;  and  that  she  was 
the  White  Squaw,  the  queen  of  her  people.  She 
indicated  that  she  was  out  on  a  "  long  trail "  hunt- 
ing, and  that  she  had  found  herself  in  this  valley, 
with  a  snow-storm  coming  on.  She  had  seen  the 
dugout  and  had  sought  its  shelter,  intending  to 
remain  there  until  the  storm  had  passed.  She  made 


QO  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

it  clear  to  them  that  a  bull  moose  and  four  cows 
had  entered  the  valley.  She  had  trailed  them  for 
many  days.  She  asked  the  brothers  if,  when  the 
storm  had  passed,  they  would  join  her  in  the  hunt. 

And  to  all  she  said  Ralph  replied  in  his  less 
perfect  signs,  prompted  by  Nick  with  blundering 
impetuosity ;  and,  at  the  end  of  the  parley,  a  perfect 
harmony  prevailed.  Two  great  rough  men,  with 
hearts  as  simple  and  trusting  as  those  of  infants, 
led  this  stranger  into  their  home,  and  made  it  clear 
that  the  place  was  hers  for  so  long  as  she  chose 
to  accept  their  hospitality. 

A  fire  was  kindled.  A  meal  was  cooked.  The 
hut  grew  warm  and  comforting.  The  dogs  out- 
side yelped  pitifully  and  often  snuffed  angrily  at 
the  sill  of  the  door.  And  the  White  Squaw  calmly 
accepted  the  throne  of  that  silent  world,  which  had 
so  long  known  only  the  joint  rule  of  the  two 
brothers.  She  looked  out  upon  her  subjects  with 
eyes  which  drove  them  wild  with  adoration,  but 
which  said  nothing  but  that  which  she  chose  to 
convey.  Nor  did  her  features  betray  one  single 
thought  that  might  chance  to  be  passing  in  the 
brain  behind.  She  wore  an  impenetrable  mask  of 
reserve  while  she  watched  the  effect  of  the  womanly 
power  she  wielded. 

And  that  night  saw  a  change  in  the  ordering  of 


THE    WHITE  SQUAW  9! 

the  trappers'  household.  The  two  men  talked  it 
over  after  their  meal.  Ralph  broached  the  subject. 

He  waved  his  arm,  the  bowl  of  his  pipe  gripped  in 
his  horny  hand,  while  its  stem  indicated  the  entire 
hut. 

"  Hers/'  he  said.  And  his  eyes  were  dragged 
from  the  object  of  his  solicitude  and  turned  upon 
Nick. 

His  brother  nodded  as  he  puffed  at  his  pipe. 

"  The  shed,"  Ralph  went  on.  "  The  huskies  must 
burrow  in  the  snow." 

Again  Nick  nodded. 

"  Wants  sweepin'  some,"  observed  Ralph  again. 

"  Yup.    We'll  fix  it." 

"  Best  git  to  it." 

"  Ay." 

And  so  the  brothers  moved  out  of  their  home, 
and  went  to  live  in  the  place  which  had  been  given 
over  to  the  dogs.  They  would  have  done  more, 
far  more,  in  their  love  for  the  woman  who  had  so 
strangely  come  into  their  midst.  They  felt  that 
it  was  little  enough  that  they  must  lie  where  the 
dogs  were  wont  to  herd.  They  needed  little  com- 
fort, and  she  must  have  the  best  they  could  give. 
And  so  the  brothers  moved  out  of  their  home. 

The  snow  fell  that  night;  a  silent,  irresistible 
mountain  snow-storm,  without  a  breath  of  wind, 


Q2  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

in  flakes  as  big  as  a  tennis-ball.  Down  they  ambled, 
seeming  to  loiter  in  indolent  playfulness  on  the 
way.  And  up,  up,  mounted  the  earth's  white 
carpet,  thicker  and  thicker,  softer  and  softer.  And 
at  daylight  the  men  confronted  eight  feet  of  snow, 
through  which  they  had  to  dig  their  way.  They 
cleared  the  dugout  that  their  priceless  treasure,  the 
wondrous  creature  who  had  come  to  them,  might 
see  the  light  of  day.  And  as  they  laboured  the 
snow  continued  to  fall;  and  at  night.  The  next 
day,  and  the  next,  they  cleared  while  the  forest 
below  was  being  slowly  buried,  and  all  the  world 
about  them  seemed  to  be  choked  with  the  gentle 
horror. 

But  Ralph  and  his  brother,  Nick,  feared  nothing. 
They  loved  the  labour;  for  was  it  not  on  behalf 
of  the  beautiful  White  Squaw  ? 


CHAPTER   VI. 

THE   WEIRD   OF   THE   WILD 

FOR  five  days  the  snow  fell  without  ceasing. 
Then  the  weather  cleared  and  the  sun  shone  forth, 
and  the  temperature,  which  had  risen  while  the 
ghostly  snow  filled  the  air,  dropped  with  a  rush 
many  degrees  below  zero. 

Again  the  call  of  the  forest  came  to  the  two  men, 
claiming  them  as  it  ever  claims  those  who  are  bred 
to  the  craft  of  trap  and  fur;  and  for  the  first  time 
in  their  lives,  the  call  was  hearkened  to  by  unwill- 
ing ears,  ears  which  sought  to  turn  from  the  allur- 
ing cry,  ears  that  craved  only  for  the  seductive  tones 
of  love.  But  habit  was  strong  upon  these  woods- 
men, and  they  obeyed  the  voice  which  had  always 
ruled  their  lives,  although  with  the  skeleton  of  re- 
bellion in  their  hearts. 

The  days  passed,  and  March,  the  worst  month  of 
the  mountain  winter,  was  rapidly  nearing;  and  with 
it  a  marked  change  came  over  the  routine  of  the 
Westleys'  home.  Hitherto  Ralph  and  Nick  were 

93 


94  W  THE  BROODING    WILD 

* 

accustomed  to  carry  out  their  work  singly,  each 
scouring  the  woodlands  and  valleys  in  a  direction 
which  was  his  alone,  each  making  his  own  bag 
of  furs,  which,  in  the  end,  would  be  turned  over 
to  the  partnership;  but  Aim-sa  joined  them  in  their 
hunting,  and,  somehow,  it  came  about  that  the  men 
found  it  necessary  to  work  together. 

They  no  longer  parted  at  daybreak  to  meet  again 
when  the  stealing  night  shades  fell.  It  became  the 
custom  for  a  party  of  three  to  set  out  from  the  hut, 
and  the  skilled  trappers  found  themselves  willingly 
deferring  to  a  woman  in  the  details  of  their  craft, 
the  craft  of  which  they  were  acknowledged  masters. 

But  this  was  not  the  only  change  that  took  place 
with  the  coming  of  the  White  Squaw.  For  a 
woman  of  the  wild,  for  a  woman  who  had  been 
bred  in  the  mysterious  depths  of  the  northern  for- 
ests, away  from  her  fellow  creatures,  shut  off  from 
all  associations  of  men,  Aim-sa  displayed  a  won- 
drous knowledge  of  those  arts  which  women  prac- 
tise for  the  subjugation  of  the  opposite  sex.  She 
set  herself  the  task  of  administering  to  her  con> 
panions'  welfare  in  the  manner  which  has  been 
woman's  from  the  first.  She  took  to  herself  the 
bothersome  duties  with  which  no  man,  however 
self-reliant,  loves  to  be  burdened.  She  went  fur- 
ther. She  demanded  and  accepted  the  homage  of 


THE    WEttD   OF  THE    WILD  95 

each  of  the  brothers,  not  impartially,  but  favouring 
first  one  and  then  the  other,  with  the  quiet  enjoy- 
ment of  a  woman  who  looks  on  at  the  silent  rivalry 
of  two  men  who  seek  her  smiles. 

And  as  the  days  lengthened,  and  the  winter  crept 
on  toward  spring,  the  peace  of  the  house  was  slowly 
but  surely  undermined.  Eve  had  appeared  in  the 
Garden. 

The  calm  that  still  remained  was  as  the  smooth 
surface  of  water  about  to  boil.  Beneath  it  was  chaos 
which  must  soon  break  out  into  visible  tumult.  The 
canker  of  jealousy  fastened  itself  like  a  secret 
growth  upon  the  uncultured  hearts  of  the  men, 
sapping  and  undermining  that  which  was  best  in 
their  natures. 

And  Aim-sa  looked  on  with  eyes  which  smiled 
inscrutably;  with  silent  tongue,  and  brain  ever 
busy.  In  due  course  she  showed  signs  of  beginning 
to  understand  her  comrades'  language.  She  even 
essayed  to  speak  it  herself;  and,  as  she  stumbled 
prettily  over  the  words,  and  placed  them  wrongly, 
she  became  more  and  more  a  source  of  delight,  an 
object  of  adoration  to  the  poor  souls  who  had  been 
so  suddenly  born  to  this  new  life.  With  keen  ap- 
preciation she  saw  these  things  while  she  listened 
to  their  speech  between  themselves,  and  her  great, 


g6  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

deep  eyes  would  wear  many  varying  expressions, 
chief  among  which  was  the  dark,  abiding  smile. 

There  could  be  no  doubt  that  what  she  saw  she 
interpreted  aright.  She  was  too  clever  in  every- 
thing else  to  do  otherwise.  Nick,  impatient,  head- 
strong, could  never  long  conceal  his  feelings.  His 
eyes  would  express  displeasure  the  moment  the 
quieter  Ralph  chanced  to  monopolize  Aim-sa's  at- 
tention. Every  smile  she  bestowed  upon  the  elder 
brother  brought  a  frown  to  the  younger  man's 
brow.  Every  act  or  look  which  could  be  inter- 
preted into  an  expression  of  regard  for  his  brother 
fired  his  soul  with  feelings  of  aversion  and  anger 
till  he  was  well-nigh  distracted.  Nor  was  Ralph 
any  less  disturbed.  In  his  undemonstrative  way 
he  watched  Nick,  and  suffered  the  acutest  pangs  of 
jealousy  at  what  he  believed  was  Airn-sa's  marked 
preference.  But  the  woman  continued  to  stir  the 
fire  she  had  kindled  with  a  childlike  naivete  which 
was  less  of  the  wild  than  of  the  drawing-room. 

And  as  day  succeeded  day,  and  week  followed 
week,  the  companionship  of  these  men  became 
forced.  The  old  tacit  understanding  was  replaced 
by  a  feverish  desire  to  talk;  and  this  forced  con- 
versation only  helped  to  widen  the  rift  which  was 
already  gaping  between  them. 

One  night  the  friction  almost  resulted  in  a  blaze. 


THE    WEIRD   OF  THE   WILD  97 

Ralph  was  lying  prone  upon  his  back,  buried  to 
the  neck  in  his  "  Arctic  bag/'  He  was  smoking, 
as  was  his  custom,  while  waiting  for  sleep  to  come. 
An  oil  lamp  reeked  upon  the  earthen  floor  and 
threw  its  bilious  rays  little  further  than  the  blankets 
spread  out  upon  either  side  of  it.  For  a  long  time 
Ralph  had  lain  silently  gazing  up  at  the  frosted 
rafters  above  him,  while  his  brother  sat  cross-legged 
at  work  restringing  his  snow-shoes  with  strands 
of  rawhide.  Suddenly  Ralph  turned  his  face 
towards  him  in  silent  contemplation.  He  watched 
Nick's  heavy  hands  with  eyes  that  wore  a  troubled 
look.  Then  he  abruptly  broke  the  long  silence. 

"  Victor  don't  know  as  she's  here,"  he  said. 

Nick  looked  up,  glanced  round  the  room,  shook 
his  head,  and  bent  over  his  work  again. 

"  No,"  he  answered  shortly. 

"  Maybe  he  won't  jest  laff." 

"  No." 

Again  came  Nick's  monosyllabic  reply. 

"  Guess  we'd  best  let  him  know." 

There  was  a  pause.  Ralph  waited  for  his  brother 
to  speak.  As  no  answer  came  he  went  on. 

"Who's  goin'  to  tell  him?" 

Still  there  was  no  reply.  The  silence  was  broken 
only  by  the  "  ping  "  of  the  rawhide  strands  which 
Nick  tested  as  he  drew  tight. 


98  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

"  We  need  some  fixin's  fer  her,"  Ralph  went  on, 
a  moment  later.  "  Wimmin,  I  'lows,  has  fancies. 
Now,  maybe,  Victor's  got  a  mighty  fine  show  o* 
print  stuffs.  A  bit  o'  Turkey  red  wouldn't  come 
amiss,  I  dessay.  Likewise  beads." 

"  Maybe." 

"Why  don't  you  take  the  dogs  an'  run  in?" 

Nick's  hands  suddenly  became  motionless;  his 
eyes  were  raised  until  they  looked  into  the  face  of 
his  brother.  His  seared,  weather-beaten  skin 
flushed  a  desperate  hue,  and  his  eyes  were  alight 
and  shining  angrily.  His  lips  twitched  with  the 
force  of  the  passion  stirring  within  him,  and  for 
some  seconds  he  held  himself  not  daring  to  trust 
to  speech. 

When  at  last  he  answered  it  was  in  a  tone  of 
fiery  abruptness. 

"  Guess  not,"  he  said.  And  it  was  Ralph's  turn 
to  hold  back  the  anger  which  rose  within  him. 

"Why?" 

"  Say,  brother,"  said  Nick,  with  a  biting  dis- 
tinctness, "  quit  right  there.  Ther'  ain't  no  need 
fer  another  word." 

For  a  moment  Ralph  peered  into  the  other's 
face;  but  he  remained  silent.  Then  he  turned  over 
upon  his  pillow  with  a  sound  very  like  a  muttered 
curse.  And  from  that  moment  the  gulf  between 


THE    WEIRD   OF  THE   WILD  99 

them  became  impassable.  Aim-sa  was  a  subject 
henceforth  tabooed  from  their  conversation.  Each 
watched  the  other  with  distrust,  and  even  hatred, 
full  grown  within  him. 

And  soon  there  came  a  further  disturbing  ele- 
ment in  that  mountain  home.  It  awoke  all  the 
dormant  atmosphere  of  mystery,  which,  in  the 
minds  of  the  two  men,  surrounded  the  lovely 
Aim-sa.  It  awoke  afresh  the  "  Dread  of  the  Wild  " 
that  had  assailed  them  on  their  journey  north. 

It  came  in  the  early  morning,  when  the  world 
about  them  was  cloaked  in  the  grey  shroud  of  day- 
light mists;  when  the  silent  forests  above  and 
below  them  were  rendered  even  more  ghostly  and 
sepulchral  by  reason  of  the  heavy  vapour  which 
depressed  all  on  which  it  settled.  Nick  was  stand- 
ing, rifle  in  hand,  preparing  to  sling  it  across  his 
back.  Ralph  was  stooping  to  adjust  his  snow- 
shoes.  Aim-sa  had  been  left  within  the  hut. 

A  gentle  breeze,  like  the  icy  breath  of  some 
frozen  giant  on  the  peak  above  the  hut,  came  lazily 
down  the  hillside.  It  broke  the  fog  into  a  turmoil 
of  protest.  The  heavy  vapour  rolled  in  huge  waves, 
sought  to  return  to  its  settled  calm,  then  slowly 
lifted  from  the  flustered  tree- tops.  Another  breath, 
a  little  stronger  than  the  first,  shot  forcefully  into 
the  heart  of  the  morning  fog  and  scattered  it  merci- 


IOO  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

lessly.  Then  the  whole  grey  expanse  solemnly 
lifted.  Up  it  rose ;  nor  did  it  pause  until  the  lower 
hills  were  bared,  and  the  wintry  sun  shone  splen- 
didly down  upon  the  crystal  earth. 

And  as  the  air  cleared  the  keen  eyes  of  Nick 
flashed  out  in  a  swift  survey  of  the  prospect.  Sud- 
denly his  breathing  was  sharply  indrawn.  His  rifle 
never  reached  his  shoulder,  but  remained  gripped  in 
his  hand.  His  eyes  had  become  riveted  upon  a 
low  hill  far  out  across  the  valley.  It  looked  as 
though  it  rose  sheer  out  of  the  forest  below,  but 
the  watching  man  knew  full  well  that  it  was  only 
a  spur  of  the  giant  that  backed  it.  It  was  the  sum- 
mit of  this  clear-cut  hill,  and  what  was  visible  upon 
it,  that  held  his  fascinated  attention.  Suddenly  a 
half-whispered  word  escaped  him  and  Ralph  was 
beside  him  in  a  moment. 

"  Look !  "  And  Nick's  arm  was  outstretched 
pointing. 

And  Ralph  looked  in  time  to  see  the  ghostly  form 
of  the  Hooded  Man  as  it  slowly  passed  from  view 
over  the  hill. 

"The  Hood!"  exclaimed  Ralph,  in  awestruck 
tones. 

"  Ay." 

"What's  — what's  he  doin'  here?"  Ralph  asked, 


THE   WEIRD   OF  THE    WILD  IOI 

more  of  himself  than  of  his  brother.  Then  he 
added :  "  He's  on  our  trail." 

There  was  a  slight  pause. 

"  It's  somethin'  on  her  account,"  Nick  said,  at 
last,  with  uneasy  conviction. 

As  if  actuated  by  a  common  thought,  both  turned 
and  looked  back  at  the  hut.  Nor  was  their  uneasi- 
ness lessened  when  they  beheld  Aim-sa  standing 
directly  behind  them,  gazing  out  across  the  wood- 
land hollow  with  eyes  distended  with  a  great  fear. 
So  absorbed  was  she  that  she  did  not  observe  the 
men's  scrutiny,  and  only  was  her  attention  drawn 
to  them  when  she  heard  Nick's  voice  addressing 
her.  Then  her  lids  drooped  in  confusion  and  she 
hastily  turned  back  to  the  house.  But  Nick  was  not 
to  be  denied. 

"  Ye' ve  seen  him,"  he  said  sharply ;  "  him  wi* 
the  hood  ?  "  And  he  made  a  motion  with  his  hand 
which  described  the  stranger's  headgear. 

Aim-sa  nodded,  and  Nick  went  on. 

"  We  seen  him  up  north.  On  the  trail  to  the 
Moosefoot." 

The  woman  again  nodded.  She  quite  understood 
now,  and  her  eyes  brightened  suddenly  as  she  turned 
their  dazzling  depths  of  blue  upon  her  questioner. 
She  understood  these  men  as  they  little  thought  she 
understood  them. 


102  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

"It  is  the  Spirit  — the  Great  Spirit,"  she  said, 
in  her  broken  speech.  "  The  Spirit  of  —  Moosefoot 
Indian.  Him  watches  Aim-sa  —  Queen  of  Moose- 
foot.  She  — White  Squaw." 

Ralph  turned  away  uneasily.  These  mysterious 
allusions  troubled  him.  Nick  could  not  withdraw 
his  fascinated  gaze.  Her  strange  eyes  held  him 
captive. 

They  took  her  words  without  a  doubt.  They 
accepted  all  she  said  without  question.  They  never 
doubted  her  identity  with  the  White  Squaw.  Prim- 
itive superstition  deeply  moved  them. 

"  You  was  scared  when  you  see  him  just  now?  " 
said  Ralph,  questioningly. 

Aim-sa  nodded. 

"  He  come  to  —  take  me,"  she  said,  halting  over 
the  words.  "  The  Moosefoot  —  they  angry  — 
Aim-sa  stay  away." 

"Hah!" 

Nick  thrust  his  rifle  out  towards  her. 

"Here  take  it.  It  shoots  good.  When  'The 
Hood '  comes,  shoot  —  savvee  ?  " 

Aim-sa  took  the  gun  and  turned  back  to  the  hut. 
And  the  men  passed  out  into  the  forest. 

Aim-sa  left  the  hut  soon  after  the  brothers  had 
departed.  For  long  she  stood  just  beyond  the  door 
as  though  not  sure  of  what  she  contemplated  doing. 


THE    WEIRD   OF  THE   WILD  103 

And  as  she  stood  her  eyes  travelled  acutely  over 
the  silent  valley.  At  last,  however,  she  moved 
leisurely  down  the  hill.  Her  easy  gait  lasted  just 
so  long  as  she  was  in  the  open;  the  moment  she 
entered  the  forest  her  indifference  vanished  and 
she  raced  along  in  the  dark  shadow  with  all  the 
speed  she  could  summon.  The  silence,  the  heavy, 
depressing  atmosphere,  the  labyrinth  of  trees  so 
dark  and  confusing;  these  things  were  no  deterrent 
to  her.  Her  object  was  distinct  in  her  mind  and 
she  gave  heed  to  nothing  else.  She  ran  on  over 
the  snow  with  the  silent  movements  of  some  ghostly 
spirit,  and  with  a  swiftness  which  told  of  the  In- 
dian blood  in  her  veins.  Her  dilating  eyes  flashed 
about  her  with  the  searching  gaze  of  one  who 
expects  to  see  something  appear,  while  not  knowing 
whence  it  will  come.  Her  flowing  hair  trailed 
from  under  her  cap  with  the  speed  of  her  going, 
and  the  biting  air  stung  her  face  into  a  brilliant 
glow.  Her  direction  was  plainly  in  her  mind,  for, 
though  dodging  her  way  through  trees,  she  never 
deviated  from'  a  certain  course;  all  her  thoughts, 
all  her  attention,  were  centred  upon  the  object  of 
her  quest. 

Nor  did  she  pause  till  she  came  to  the  low  hill 
which  stood  on  the  far  side  of  the  valley.  As  she 
came  to  the  edge  of  the  forest  which  skirted  its 


IO4  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

base  she  drew  up  and  stood  for  a  moment  hesitat- 
ing. Once  she  raised  a  hand  to  her  mouth  as 
though  about  to  give  voice  to  a  prolonged  moun- 
tain call,  but  she  desisted,  and,  instead,  set  out  to 
round  the  hill,  always  keeping  to  the  shadow  of 
the  forest  edge. 

At  length  she  stopped.  Her  hand  went  up  to 
her  mouth  and  her  head  was  thrown  back,  and  out 
upon  the  still  air  rang  a  cry  so  mournful  that  even 
the  forest  gloom  was  rendered  more  cheerless  by 
its  sound.  High  it  rose,  soaring  upwards  through 
the  trees  until  the  valley  rang  with  its  plaintive  wail. 
As  if  recognizing  the  distressful  howl  of  their  kind, 
the  cry  came  back  to  her  from  the  deep-toned 
throats  of  prowling  timber-wolves.  The  chorus 
rang  in  her  ears  from  many  directions  as  she  lis- 
tened, but  the  sounds  had  little  effect.  As  they  died 
down  she  still  waited  in  an  attitude  of  attention. 

The  moments  slipped  by.  Presently  she  again 
sent  the  call  hurtling  through  the  trees.  Again 
came  the  chorus;  again  she  waited.  And  the 
sounds  of  the  chorus  were  nearer  at  hand,  and  a 
crackling  of  undergrowth  warned  her  of  the  pres- 
ence of  the  savage  creatures  she  had  summoned. 
The  deep  blue  eyes  were  alert  and  watchful,  but 
she  showed  no  signs  of  fear;  nor  did  she  move. 
Suddenly  a  less  stealthy  and  more  certain  crackling 


THE    WEIRD   OF  THE   WILD  10$ 

of  the  bush  made  itself  heard;  and  the  roving  eyes 
became  fixed  in  one  direction.  Beneath  the  shadow 
of  the  laden  boughs  a  tall  grey  figure  appeared 
moving  towards  her.  But  this  was  not  all,  for  sev- 
eral slinking,  stealing  forms  were  moving  about 
amongst  the  barren  tree-trunks;  hungry-looking 
creatures  these,  with  fierce  burning  eyes  and  small 
pricked  ears,  with  ribs  almost  bursting  through  the 
coarse  hides  which  covered  their  low,  lank  bodies. 

But  all  the  woman's  attention  was  centred  upon 
the  form  of  the  other  —  the  hooded  figure  she  had 
seen  in  the  morning.  He  came  with  long,  regular 
strides,  a  figure  truly  calculated  to  inspire  awe. 
Even  now,  near  as  he  was  to  her,  there  was  no 
sign  of  his  face  to  be  seen.  He  was  clad  in  the 
folds  of  grey  wolfskin,  and  a  cowl-like  hood  utterly 
concealed  his  face,  while  leaving  him  free  to  see 
from  within. 

As  the  man  came  up  Aim-sa  plunged  into  vol- 
uble speech. 

They  talked  together  long  and  earnestly;  their 
tones  were  of  dictation  on  the  part  of  the  woman 
and  subservience  on  the  part  of  the  man.  Then 
the  Spirit  of  the  Moosefoot  Indians  moved  away, 
and  the  White  Squaw  retraced  her  steps  to  the 
dugout. 

A  look  of  triumph  was  in  Aim-sa's  blue  eyes  as 


106  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

she  returned  through  the  forest.  She  gave  no  heed 
to  the  slinking  forms  that  dogged  her  steps.  She 
saw  nothing  of  the  forest  about  her;  all  her  in- 
terest was  in  the  dugout  and  those  who  lived  there. 

When  she  came  to  the  house  she  received  a  shock. 
Nick  had  returned  during  her  absence.  He  had 
come  for  the  dog  sled,  and  had  since  brought  the 
vast  carcass  of  a  grizzly  into  camp.  Now  he  was 
stripping  the  rich  fur  from  the  forest  king's  body. 
The  five  huskies,  with  shivering  bodies  and  jowls 
dripping  saliva,  were  squatting  around  upon  their 
haunches  waiting  for  the  meal  they  hoped  would 
soon  be  theirs. 

The  man,  still  kneeling  over  his  prize,  greeted 
Aim-sa  without  pausing  in  his  work. 

"  Wher'  ?  "  he  asked,  sparing  his  words  lest  he 
should  confuse  her. 

The  unconcern  of  the  query  reassured  her. 

"  The  forest,"  replied  Aim-sa  easily,  pointing 
away  down  the  hill. 

There  was  a  long  pause  while  the  woodsman  plied 
his  knife  with  rough  but  perfect  skill.  The  thick 
fur  rolled  under  his  hands.  The  snick,  snick  of  his 
knife  alternated  with  the  sound  of  tearing  as  he 
pulled  the  pelt  from  the  under-flesh.  Aim-sa 
watched,  interested,  then,  as  Nick  made  no  further 


THE  WEIRD  OF  THE  WILD        IO? 

remark,  she  went  on.  She  pointed  back  at  the 
forest. 

"  The  wolves  —  they  very  thick.  Many,  many 
—  an'  hungry." 

"  They've  left  the  open.  Guess  it's  goin'  to  storm, 
sure,"  observed  the  man  indifferently.  He 
wrenched  the  fur  loose  from  the  fore  paws. 

"  Yes  —  it  storm  —  sure."  And  Aim-sa  gazed 
critically  up  at  the  sky.  The  usual  storm  sentries 
hung  glittering  upon  either  side  of  the  sun,  and 
the  blue  vault  was  particularly  steely. 

Nick  rose  from  his  gory  task.  He  drew  the 
fur  away  and  spread  it  out  on  the  roof  of  the  dug- 
out to  freeze.  Then  he  cut  some  fresh  meat  from 
the  carcass,  and  afterwards  dragged  the  remainder 
down  the  hill  and  left  it  for  the  dogs.  The  squab- 
ble began  as  soon  as  he  returned  to  Aim-sa.  A 
babel  of  fierce  snarling  and  yapping  proceeded  as 
the  ruthless  beasts  tore  at  the  still  warm  flesh. 
And  in  less  than  a  minute  other  voices  came  up 
from  the  woods,  heralding  the  approach  of  some 
of  the  famished  forest  creatures.  Nick  gave  no 
heed.  The  dogs  must  defend  their  own.  Such  is 
the  law  of  the  wild.  He  had  Aim-sa  to  himself, 
and  he  knew  not  how  long  it  would  be  before  his 
brother  returned. 

And  Aim-sa  was  in  no  way  loth  to  linger  by  this 


IO8  IN   THE  BROODING    WILD 

great  trapper's  side.  It  pleased  her  to  talk  in  her 
halting  fashion  to  him.  He  had  more  to  say  than 
his  brother;  he  was  a  grand  specimen  of  manhood. 
Besides,  his  temperament  was  wilder,  more  fierce, 
more  like  the  world  in  which  he  lived. 

She  hearkened  to  the  sounds  of  the  snarling 
wolves  and  her  blue  eyes  darkened  with  the  latent 
savagery  that  was  in  her  nature. 

"  The  dogs  —  they  fight.  Hah !  "  she  said.  And 
a  smile  of  delight  was  in  her  eyes. 

"Let  'em  fight,"  said  Nick,  carelessly.  Then 
he  turned  upon  her  with  a  look  there  was  no  mis- 
taking. His  whole  attitude  was  expressive  of  pas- 
sionate earnestness  as  he  looked  down  into  the  blue 
worlds  which  confronted  him;. 

She  taunted  him  with  a  glance  of  intense  mean- 
ing. And,  in  an  instant,  the  fire  in  his  soul  blazed 
into  an  overwhelming  conflagration. 

"  You're  that  beautiful,  Aim-sa,"  he  cried.  Then 
he  paused  as  though  his  feelings  choked  him. 
"  Them  blue  eyes  o'  yours  goes  right  clear  through 
me,  I  guess.  Makes  me  mad.  By  Gar!  you're  the 
finest  crittur  in  the  world." 

He  looked  as  though  he  would  devour  the  fair 
form  which  had  raised  such  a  storm  within  his 
simple  heart.  She  returned  his  look  with  a  fear- 
lessness which  still  had  some  power  to  check  his 


THE    WEIRD   OF  THE    WILD  109 

untutored  passion.  Her  smile,  too,  was  not  wholly 
devoid  of  derision;  but  that  was  lost  upon  him. 

"  Aim-sa  —  beautiful.  Ah !  yes  —  yes,  I  know. 
You  speak  love  to  me.  You  speak  love  to  White 
Squaw." 

"  Ay,  love/*  cried  Nick,  the  blood  mounting  with 
a  rush  to  his  strong  face.  "  Guess  you  don't  know 
love,  my  girl.  Not  yet.  But  mebbe  you  will.  Say, 
Aim-sa,  I'll  teach  it  ye.  I'll  teach  it  ye  real  well, 
gal.  You'll  be  my  squaw,  an'  we'll  light  right  out 
o'  here.  I've  got  half  share  in  our  pile,  an'  it  ain't 
a  little.  Jest  say  right  here  as  ye'll  do  it,  an'  I'll 
fix  things,  an'  hitch  up  the  dogs." 

Nick  paused  in  his  eloquence.  The  squaw's  eyes 
danced  with  delight,  and  he  read  the  look  to  suit 
himself.  Already  he  anticipated  a  favourable  an- 
swer. But  he  was  quickly  undeceived.  Aim-sa 
merely  revelled  in  the  passion  she  had  aroused,  like 
a  mischievous  child  with  a  forbidden  plaything. 
She  enjoyed  it  for  a  moment,  then  her  face  sud- 
denly became  grave,  and  her  eyelids  drooped  over 
the  wonderful  eyes  which  he  thought  had  told  him 
so  much.  And  her  answer  came  with  a  shake  of 
the  head. 

"  Aim-sa  loves  not.  She  must  not.  The  Moose- 
foot —  she  is  Queen." 


IIO  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

"  Curses  on  the  Moosefoot,  I  say,"  cried  Nick, 
with  passionate  impulse. 

Aim-sa  put  up  her  hand. 

"  The  man  —  '  The  Hood.'    Fear  the  Spirit." 

A  chill  shot  down  through  Nick's  heart  as  he  lis- 
tened. But  his  passion  was  only  checked  for  the 
moment.  The  next  and  he  seized  the  woman  in  his 
powerful  arms  and  drew  her  to  his  breast,  and 
kissed  her  not  too  unwilling  lips.  The  kiss 
maddened  him,  and  he  held  her  tight,  while  he 
sought  her  blindly,  madly.  He  kissed  her  cheeks, 
her  hair,  her  eyes,  her  lips,  and  the  touch  of  her 
warm  flesh  scorched  his  very  soul.  Nor  is  it  possi- 
ble to  say  how  long  he  would  have  held  her  had 
she  not,  by  a  subtle,  writhing  movement,  slipped 
from  within  his  enfolding  arms.  Her  keen  ears 
had  caught  a  sound  which  did  not  come  from  the 
fighting  dogs.  It  was  the  penetrating  forest  cry 
in  the  brooding  mountain  calm. 

"  Remember  —  '  The  Hood/  '  Aim-sa  warned 
him.  And  the  next  moment  had  vanished  within 
the  dugout. 

Now  Nick  knew  that  he  too  had  heard  the  cry, 
and  he  stood  listening,  while  his  passion  surged 
through  his  veins  and  his  heart  beat  in  mighty  pul- 
sations. As  he  gazed  over  the  forest  waste,  he 
expected  to  see  the  mysterious  hooded  figure. 


THE   WEIRD  OF  THE    WILD  III 

But  what  he  beheld  brought  an  angry  flush  to 
his  cheeks.  He  did  not  see  "  The  Hood,"  but  Ralph 
walking  slowly  up  the  hill. 

And  a  harsh  laugh  which  had  no  mirth  in  it 
broke  from  him.  Then  a  frown  settled  darkly  upon 
his  brow.  What,  he  asked  himself,  had  Ralph  re- 
turned for?  He  bore  no  burden  of  skins. 

And  when  Ralph  looked  up  and  saw  Nick  whom 
he  believed  to  be  miles  away,  his  heart  grew  bitter 
within  him.  He  read  the  look  on  the  other's  face. 
He  saw  the  anger,  and  a  certain  guiltiness  of  his 
own  purpose  made  him  interpret  it  aright.  And 
in  a  flash  he  resolved  upon  a  scheme  which,  but  for 
what  he  saw,  would  never  have  presented  itself  to 
him. 

And  as  the  gleaming  sun-dogs,  drooping  so  heav- 
ily yet  angrily  in  the  sky,  heralded  the  coming  storm 
of  elements,  so  did  that  meeting  of  the  two  broth- 
ers threaten  the  peace  of  the  valley. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

IN   THE   STORMING   NIGHT 

THE  love  of  these  men  for  the  fair  creature  of 
the  wild  had  risen  to  fever-heat  with  the  abruptness 
of  tropical  sunshine.  It  was  no  passing  infatuation, 
but  the  deep-rooted,  absorbing  passion  of  strong 
simple  men ;  a  passion  which  dominated  their  every 
act  and  thought ;  a  passion  which  years  alone  might 
mellow  into  calm  affection,  but  which  nothing  could 
eradicate.  It  had  come  into  their  lives  at  a  time 
when  every  faculty  was  at  its  ripest;  henceforth 
everything  would  be  changed.  The  wild,  to  them, 
was  no  longer  the  wild  they  had  known ;  it  was  no 
longer  theirs  alone.  Their  life  had  gathered  to 
itself  a  fresh  meaning;  a  meaning  drawn  from 
association  with  Woman,  and  from  which  it  could 
never  return  to  the  colourless  existence  of  its 
original  solitude. 

With  the  return  of  Ralph  to  the  camp  the  day 
progressed  in  sullen  silence.  Neither  of  the  men 
would  give  way  an  inch;  neither  would  return  to 

112 


IN  THE  STORMING  NIGHT  1 1 3 

the  forest  to  complete  his  day's  work,  and  even 
Aim-sa  found  their  morose  antagonism  something 
to  be  feared.  Each  watched  the  other  until  it 
seemed  impossible  for  the  day  to  pass  without  the 
breaking  of  the  gathering  storm.  But,  however,  the 
time  wore  on,  and  the  long  night  closed  down  with- 
out anything  happening  to  precipitate  matters. 

The  evening  was  passed  in  the  woman's  com- 
pany. Ralph  sat  silent,  brooding.  While  Nick, 
with  the  memory  of  the  wild  moments  during  which 
he  had  held  Aim-sa  in  his  embrace  fresh  upon  him, 
held  a  laboured  conversation  with  her.  To  him 
there  was  a  sense  of  triumph  as  he  sat  smoking  his 
blackened  pipe,  listening  to  the  halting  phrases  of 
the  woman,  and  gazing  deeply  into  her  wonderful 
blue  eyes.  And  in  the  ecstasy  of  recollection  he 
forgot  Ralph  and  all  but  his  love.  There  was  no 
generosity  in  his  hear^;  he  had  given  himself  up 
to  the  delights  of  his  passion.  He  claimed  the  fair 
Aim-sa  to  himself,  and  was  ready  to  uphold  his 
claim  so  long  as  he  had  life. 

All  that  long  evening  he  heeded  nothing  of  the 
dark  expression  of  Ralph's  face.  The  furtive 
glances  from  his  brother's  eyes  were  lost  upon  him, 
and  even  had  he  seen  them  their  meaning  would 
have  had  no  terrors  for  him.  With  all  the  blind 
selfishness  of  a  first  love  he  centred  his  faculties 


114  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

upon  obtaining  Aim-sa's  regard,  and  lived  in  the 
fool's  paradise  of  a  reckless  lover. 

And  all  the  time  Ralph  watched,  and  planned. 
The  bitterness  of  his  heart  ate  into  the  uttermost 
part  of  his  vitals,  the  canker  mounted  even  to  his 
brain.  The  deep  fire  of  hatred  was  now  blazing 
furiously,  and  each  moment  it  gathered  destructive 
force.  All  that  was  good  in  the  man  was  slowly 
devoured,  and  only  a  shell  of  fierce  anger  remained. 

But  what  Nick  failed  to  observe  Aim-sa  saw  as 
plainly  as  only  a  woman  can  see  such  things.  Her 
bright  eyes  saw  the  fire  she  had  kindled,  and  from 
sheer  wantonness  she  fanned  the  flame  with  all  the 
art  of  which  she  was  mistress. 

Slowly  the  hours  passed.  It  was  Nick  who  at 
last  rose  and  gave  the  signal  for  departure.  It 
was  an  unwritten  law  between  these  two  that  when 
one  left  Aim-sa's  presence  they  both  left  it.  There- 
fore Ralph  followed  suit,  and  they  retired  to  their 
sleeping-apartment. 

Outside  the  night  was  fine,  but  the  threat  of 
storm  hung  heavily  in  the  air.  The  temperature 
had  risen,  a  sure  indication  of  the  coming  blizzard. 
Ralph  was  the  last  to  leave  the  woman's  presence, 
and,  ere  he  closed  the  door,  he  looked  back  at  the 
smiling  face,  so  beautiful  to  him,  so  seductively 
fair  in  his  eyes;  and  the  memory  of  the  picture  he 


IN  THE  STORMING  NIGHT  115 

looked  upon  remained  with  him.  He  saw  the  dull- 
lit  interior,  with  its  rough  woodsman's  belongings; 
the  plastered  walls  of  logs,  coarse  and  discoloured; 
the  various  utensils  hanging  suspended  from  five- 
inch  spikes  driven  in  the  black  veins  of  timber; 
the  blazing  stove  and  crooked  stovepipe;  the  box 
of  tin  dishes  and  pots;  the  sides  of  bacon  hanging 
from  the  roof;  the  pile  of  sacks  containing  biscuit 
and  dried  fish,  the  latter  for  the  dogs;  the  out- 
spread blankets  which  formed  the  woman's  bed; 
and  in  the  midst  of  it  all  the  dazzling  presence  of 
Aim-sa,  fair  as  the  twilight  of  a  summer  evening. 

The  door  closed  softly,  and  as  it  closed  Aim-sa 
rose  from  her  blankets.  Her  expression  had 
changed,  and  while  the  men  went  to  their  humble 
couches  she  moved  about  with  feverish  haste,  at- 
tentive to  the  least  sound,  but  always  hurried,  and 
with  a  look  of  deep  anxiety  in  her  alert  eyes. 

No  word  was  spoken  as  the  men  rolled  into  their 
blankets.  The  thick  wall  shut  out  all  sound  from 
within  the  hut.  The  night  was  intensely  still  and 
silent.  Not  even  was  there  a  single  wolf-howl  to 
awaken  the  echoes  of  the  towering  hills.  It  was 
as  though  all  nature  was  at  rest. 

Nick  was  soon  asleep.  Not  even  the  agitation  of 
mind  caused  by  a  first  love  could  keep  him  long 
awake  when  the  hour  for  sleep  came  around.  With 


Il6  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

Ralph  it  was  different.  His  nature  was  intenser. 
His  disposition  was  capable  of  greater  disturbance 
than  was  that  of  the  more  impetuous  Nick.  He 
remained  awake;  awake  and  alert.  He  smoked  in 
the  darkness  more  from  habit  than  enjoyment.  Al- 
though he  could  see  nothing  his  eyes  constantly 
wandered  in  the  direction  of  the  man  beside  him, 
and  he  listened  for  the  heavy  breathing  which 
should  tell  him  of.  the  slumber  which  would  endure 
till  the  first  streak  of  dawn  shot  athwart  the  sky. 
Soon  it  came;  and  Nick  snored  heavily. 

Then,  without  sound,  Ralph  sat  up  in  his  blankets. 
He  bent  his  head  towards  the  sleeper,  and,  satisfied, 
rose  softly  to  his  feet.  Opening  the  door  he  looked 
out.  All  was  profoundly  quiet  and  black.  Not  a 
star  shone  in  the  sky,  nor  was  there  a  sign  of  the 
dancing  northern  lights.  And  while  he  stood  he 
heard  for  the  first  time  that  night  the  cry  of  some 
distant  forest  creature;  but  the  timber-wolves  kept 
silent  in  the  depths  below  the  hut.  He  drew  the 
door  to  behind  him  and  moved  out  into  the  night. 

Cold  as  it  was  he  was  consumed  by  a  perfect 
fever  of  agitation.  His  thoughts  were  in  a  state 
of  chaos,  but  the  one  dominant  note  which  rang 
out  with  clarionlike  distinctness  was  that  which 
drew  him  towards  Aim-sa's  door.  And  thither  he 
stole  softly,  silently,  with  the  tiptoeing  of  a  thief, 


IN  THE  STORMING  NIGHT  1 1 ? 

and  with  the  nervous  quakings  of  a  wrong-doer. 
His  face  was  wrought  with  fear,  with  hope,  with 
the  eagerness  of  expectancy. 

He  passed  from  the  deeper  shadows  in  which  the 
lean-to  was  bathed,  and  stood  at  the  angle  of  the 
house.  He  paused,  and  a  flurrying  of  the  snow  at 
his  feet  warned  him  that  he  had  stepped  close  to 
the  burrow  of  one  of  Nick's  huskies.  He  moved 
quickly  aside,  and  the  movement  brought  him 
beyond  the  angle.  Then  he  stood  stock-still,  held 
motionless  as  he  saw  that  the  door  of  the  dugout 
was  open  and  the  light  of  the  oil-lamp  within  was 
illuminating  the  beaten  snow  which  fronted  the 
house.  He  held  his  breath.  Again  and  again  he 
asked  himself  the  meaning  of  the  strange  phenom- 
enon. 

From  where  he  stood  he  could  see  only  the  light ; 
the  doorway  was  hidden  by  the  storm-porch.  But, 
as  he  strained  his  eyes  in  the  direction  and  craned 
forward,  he  became  aware  of  a  shadow  on  the  snow 
where  the  lamp  threw  its  dull  rays.  Slowly  he 
scanned  the  outline  of  it,  and  his  mind  was  moved 
by  speculation.  The  shadow  was  uncertain,  and 
only  that  which  was  nearest  the  door  was  recog- 
nizable. Here  there  was  no  mistake;  some  one 
was  standing  in  the  opening,  and  that  some  one 
could  only  be  Ain>sa. 


Il8  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

He  was  filled  with  excitement  and  his  heart  beat 
tumultuously ;  a  frenzy  of  delight  seized  upon  him, 
and  he  stepped  forward  swiftly.  A  moment  later 
he  stood  confronting  her. 

Just  for  one  moment  Airp-sa's  face  took  on  a 
look  of  dismay,  but  it  passed  before  Ralph  had  time 
to  read  it.  Then  she  smiled  a  glad  welcome  up  at 
the  keen  eyes  which  peered  down  into  her  own,  and 
her  voice  broke  the  silence  in  a  gentle,  suppressed 
tone. 

"  Quiet  —  quiet.  The  night.  The  storm  is  near. 
Aim-sa  watches." 

Ralph  turned  his  face  out  upon  the  blackness  of 
the  valley,  following  the  direction  of  the  woman's 
gaze. 

"  Ay,  storm,"  he  said  mechanically,  and  his  heart 
pounded  within  his  breast,  and  his  breath  came  and 
went  heavily.  Then,  in  the  pause  which  followed, 
he  started  and  looked  towards  the  lean-to  as  a  sound 
came  from  that  direction.  He  was  half-fearful  of 
his  sleeping  brother. 

Aim-sa's  eyes  turned  towards  the  rugged  features 
before  her,  and  her  gaze  was  of  an  intensity  such 
as  Ralph  could  not  support  in  silence.  Words  blun- 
dered unbidden  to  his  lips,  uncontrolled,  and  he 
spoke  as  a  man  who  scarce  knows  what  he  is  saying. 


IN  THE  STORMING  NIGHT  119 

His  mind  was  in  the  throes  of  a  fever,  and  his 
speech  partook  of  the  irrelevance  of  delirium. 

"  You  must  live  with  me,"  he  said,  his  brows 
frowning  with  the  intensity  of  his  passion.  "  You 
must  be  my  wife.  The  white  man  takes  a  squaw, 
an*  he  calls  her  '  wife,'  savvee?  Guess  he  ain't  like 
the  Injuns  that  has  many  squaws.  He  jest  takes 
one.  You'll  be  my  squaw,  an'  we'll  go  away  from 
here." 

A  smile  was  in  the  woman's  blue  eyes,  for  her 
memory  went  back  to  the  words  Nick  had  spoken 
to  her  that  morning. 

Ralph  went  on. 

"  Guess  I  love  you  that  bad  as  makes  me  crazy. 
Ther'  ain't  nothin'  to  life  wi'out  you."  His  eyes 
lowered  to  the  ground;  then  they  looked  beyond 
her,  and  he  gazed  upon  the  disordered  condition 
of  the  room  without  observing  it.  "  Nick  don't 
need  me  here.  He  can  have  the  shack  an'  every- 
thing, 'cep'  my  haf  share  o'  the  money.  Guess 
we'll  trail  north  an'  pitch  our  camp  on  the  Peace 
River.  What  say?" 

Aim-sa's  eyes  were  still  smiling.  Every  word 
Nick  had  spoken  was  vivid  in  her  memory.  She 
looked  as  though  she  would  laugh  aloud,  but  she 
held  herself  in  check,  and  the  man  took  her  smile 
for  one  of  acquiescence  and  became  bolder.  He 


120  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

stretched  out  his  hand  and  caught  hers  in  his 
shaking  grasp. 

"  The  white  man  loves  —  Aim-sa,"  the  woman 
said,  softly,  while  she  yielded  her  two  hands  to 
him. 

"Love?  Ay,  love.  Say,  ther'  ain't  nothin'  in 
the  world  so  beautiful  as  you,  Aim-sa,  an'  that's  a 
fac'.  I  ain't  never  seen  nothin'  o'  wimmin  before, 
'cep'  my  mother,  but  I  guess  now  I've  got  you  I 
can't  do  wi'out  you,  you're  that  soft  an'  pictur'-like. 
Ye've  jest  got  to  say  right  here  that  you're  my 
squaw,  an'  everything  I've  got  is  yours,  on'y  they 
things  I  leave  behind  to  Nick." 

"  Ah,"  sighed  the  woman,  "  Nick  —  poor  Nick. 
He  loves  —  Aim-sa,  too.  Nick  is  great  man." 

"  Nick  loves  you?    Did  he  get  tellin'  ye  so?  " 

There  was  a  wild,  passionate  ring  in  Ralph's 
question. 

The  squaw  nodded,  and  the  man's  expression 
suddenly  changed.  The  passionate  look  merged 
into  one  of  fiery  anger,  and  his  eyes  burned  with 
a  low,  dark  fire.  Aim-sa  saw  the  sudden  change, 
but  she  still  smiled  in  her  soft  way. 

"An*  you?" 

The  voice  of  the  man  was  choking  with  sup- 
pressed passion.  His  whole  body  trembled  with 
the  chaos  of  feeling  which  moved  him. 


IN  THE  STORMING  NIGHT  121 

The  woman  shook  her  head. 

"  An'  what  did  ye  say  ?  "  he  went  on,  as  she  re- 
mained silent. 

"  Nick  is  great.    No,  Aim-sa  not  loves  Nick." 

Ralph  sighed  with  relief,  and  again  the  fiery 
blood  swept  through  his  veins.  He  stepped  up  close 
to  her  and  she  remained  quite  still.  The  blue  eyes 
were  raised  to  his  face  and  Aim-sa's  lips  parted  in 
a  smile.  The  effect  was  instantaneous.  Ralph 
seized  her  in  a  forceful  embrace,  and  held  her  to 
him  whilst  he  gasped  out  the  passionate  torrent  of 
his  love  amidst  an  avalanche  of  kisses.  And  they 
stood  thus  for  long,  until  the  man  calmed  and  spoke 
with  more  practical  meaning. 

"An5  we  go  together?"  he  asked. 

Aim-sa  nodded. 

"Now?" 

The  woman  shook  her  head. 

"  No  —  sunrise.    I  wait  here." 

Again  they  stood;  he  clasping  her  unresisting 
form,  while  the  touch  of  her  flowing  hair  intox- 
icated him,  and  the  gentle  rise  and  fall  of  her 
bosom  drove  all  thought  wild  within  him. 

They  stood  for  many  minutes;  till  at  last  the 
still  night  was  stirred  by  the  rustling  herald  of  the 
coming  storm.  The  long-drawn-out  sigh  of  the 
wind,  so  sad,  so  weird  in  the  darkness  of  night 


122  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

would  have  passed  unheeded  by  the  man,  but 
Aim-sa  was  alert,  and  she  freed  herself  from  his 
embrace. 

"  At  sunrise/'  she  said.  "  Now  —  sleep."  And 
she  made  a  sign  as  of  laying  her  head  upon  a 
pillow. 

Ralph  stood  irresolute.  Suddenly  Aim-sa  started. 
Her  whole  bearing  changed.  A  swift,  startled  gaze 
shot  from  beneath  her  long,  curling  lashes  in  the 
direction  of  the  distant  hills.  A  tiny  glimmer  of 
light  had  caught  her  attention  and  she  stepped  back 
on  the  instant  and  passed  into  the  hut,  closing  the 
door  softly  but  quickly  behind  her.  And  when  she 
had  disappeared  Ralph  stood  as  one  dazed. 

The  significance  of  Aim-sa's  abrupt  departure 
was  lost  upon  him.  For  him  there  was  nothing 
unusual  in  her  movements.  She  had  been  there,  he 
had  held  her  in  his  arms,  he  had  kissed  her  soft 
lips.  He  had  tasted  of  love,  and  the  mad  passion 
had  upset  his  thoughtful  nature.  His  mind  and 
his  feelings  were  in  a  whirl  and  he  thrilled  with  a 
delicious  joy.  His  thoughts  were  so  vivid  that  all 
sense  of  that  which  was  about  him,  all  caution,  was 
obscured  by  them.  At  that  moment  there  was  but 
one  thing  that  mattered  to  him,  —  Aim-sa's  love. 
All  else  was  as  nothing. 

So  it  came  that  the  faint  light  on  the  distant 


IN  THE  STORMING  NIGHT  123 

hills  burned  steadily;  and  he  saw  it  not.  So  it 
came  that  a  shadowy  figure  moved  about  at  the 
forest  edge  below  him;  and  he  saw  it  not.  So  it 
came  that  the  light  breath  from  the  mountain-top 
was  repeated  only  more  fiercely;  and  he  heeded  it 
not.  In  those  moments  he  was  living  within  him- 
self; his  thoughts  were  his  world,  and  those 
thoughts  were  of  the  woman  he  had  kissed  and 
held  in  his  arms. 

Nothing  gave  him  warning  of  the  things  which 
were  doing  about  him.  He  saw  no  tribulation  in 
the  sea  upon  which  he  had  embarked.  He  loved; 
that  was  all  he  knew.  Presently  like  a  sleep-walker 
he  turned  and  moved  around  towards  the  deeper 
shadow  of  the  lean-to.  Then,  when  he  neared  the 
door  of  the  shed  in  which  his  brother  was,  he 
seemed  to  partially  awake  to  his  surroundings.  He 
knew  that  he  must  regain  his  bed  without  disturb- 
ing Nick.  With  this  awakening  he  pulled  himself 
together.  To-morrow  at  sunrise  he  and  the  squaw 
were  to  go  away,  and.  long  he  lay  awake,  thinking, 
thinking. 

Now  the  shadow  hovering  at  the  forest  edge  be- 
came more  distinct  as  it  neared  the  house;  it  came 
slowly,  stealing  warily  up  the  snow-clad  hill.  There 
was  no  scrunch  of  footsteps,  the  snow  muffled  all 
such  sounds.  It  drew  nearer,  nearer,  a  tall,  grey, 


124  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

ghostly  shadow  that  seemed  to  float  over  the  white 
carpet  which  was  everywhere  spread  out  upon  the 
earth.  And  as  it  came  the  wind  rose,  gusty  and 
patchy,  and  the  hiss  of  rising  snow  sounded  sting- 
ingly  upon  the  night  air,  and  often  beat  with  the 
force  of  hail  against  the  front  of  the  dugout. 

Within  a  few  yards  of  the  hut  the  figure  came 
to  a  halt.  Thus  it  stood,  immovable,  a  grey  sombre 
shadow  in  the  darkness  of  night.  Then,  after  a 
long  pause,  high  above  the  voice  of  the  rising  wind 
the  howl  of  the  wolf  rang  out.  It  came  like  a  cry 
of  woe  from  a  lost  soul;  deep-toned,  it  lifted  upon 
the  air,  only  to  fall  and  die  away  lost  in  the  shriek 
of  the  wind.  Thrice  came  the  cry.  Then  the  door 
of  the  dugout  opened  and  Aim-sa  looked  out  into 
the  relentless  night. 

The  figure  moved  forward  again.  It  drew  near 
to  the  door,  and,  in  the  light,  the  grey  swathing 
of  fur  became  apparent,  and  the  cavernous  hood 
lapping  about  the  head  identified  the  Spirit  of  the 
Moosefoot  Indians.  Then  followed  a  low  murmur 
of  voices.  And  again  the  woman  moved  back  into 
the  hut.  The  grey  figure  waited,  and  a  moment 
later  Aim-sa  came  to  him  again.  Shortly  after  the 
door  closed  and  the  Spirit  moved  silently  away. 

All  was  profoundly  dark.  The  darkness  of  the 
night  was  a  darkness  that  could  be  felt,  for  the 


IN  THE  STORMING  NIGHT  12$ 

merciless  blizzard  of  the  northern  latitudes  was 
raging  at  its  full  height.  The  snow-fog  had  risen 
and  all  sign  of  trail  or  footstep  was  swept  from  the 
icy  carpet.  It  was  a  cruel  night,  and  surely  one 
fit  for  the  perpetration  of  cruel  deeds. 

And  so  the  night  passed.  The  elements  warring 
with  the  fury  of  wildcats,  with  the  shrieking  of 
fiends,  with  the  roaring  of  artillery,  with  the  merci- 
less severity  of  the  bitter  north.  And  while  the 
storm  swept  the  valley  the  two  brothers  slept;  even 
Ralph,  although  torn  by  such  conflicting  emotions, 
was  lulled,  and  finally  won  to  sleep  by  the  raging 
elements  whose  voices  he  had  listened  to  ever  since 
his  cradle  days. 

But  even  his  slumbers  were  broken,  and  strange 
visions  haunted  his  night  hours.  There  was  none 
of  the  peacefulness  of  his  usual  repose  —  the  repose 
of  a  man  who  has  performed  his  allotted  daylight 
task.  He  tossed  and  twisted  within  his  sleeping- 
bag.  He  talked  disjointedly  and  flung  his  arms 
about;  and,  finally,  while  yet  it  was  dark,  he 
awoke. 

Springing  into  a  sitting  posture,  he  peered  about 
him  in  the  darkness.  Everything  came  back  to  his 
mind  with  a  rush.  He  remembered  his  appointment 
at  sunrise,  and  he  wondered  how  long  he  had  slept. 
Again  he  crept  to  the  shed  door.  Again  he  looked 


126  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

out  and  finally  passed  out.  Nick  still  slumbered 
heavily. 

The  fury  of  the  elements  was  unabated  and  they 
buffeted  him;  but  he  looked  around  and  saw  the 
grey  daylight  illuminating  the  snow- fog,  and  he 
knew  that  though  sunrise  was  near  it  was  not  yet. 
He  passed  around  the  hut,  groping  with  his  hands 
upon  the  building  until  he  came  to  the  door.  Here 
he  paused.  He  would  awake  Aim-sa  that  she  might 
prepare  for  her  flight  with  him.  There  was  much 
to  be  done.  He  was  about  to  knock  but  altered 
his  mind  and  tried  the  latch.  It  yielded  to  his 
touch  and  the  door  swung  back. 

He  did  not  pause  to  wonder,  although  he  knew 
that  it  was  Aim-sa' s  custom  to  secure  the  door.  He 
passed  within,  and  in  a  hoarse  whisper  called  out 
the  name  that  was  so  dear  to  him.  There  came  no 
answer  and  he  stood  still,  his  senses  tense  with 
excitement.  He  called  again,  again.  Still  there 
was  no  answer.  Now  he  closed  the  door,  which 
creaked  over  the  snow  covering  the  sill.  He  stood 
listening  lest  Nick  should  be  moving  on  the  other 
side  of  the  wall,  and  to  ascertain  if  Aim-sa  had 
awakened  and  was  fearful  at  the  intrusion.  But 
no  sound  except  the  rage  of  the  storm  came  to  him. 

His  impatience  could  no  longer  be  restrained; 
he  plunged  his  hand  into  the  pocket  of  his  buckskin 


IN  THE  STORMING  NIGHT  12 f 

shirt  and  drew  out  a  box  of  matches.  A  moment 
later  a  light  flashed  out,  and  in  one  sweeping,  com- 
prehensive glance  around  him  he  realized  the  truth. 
The  hut  was  empty.  "  Gone,  gone,"  he  muttered, 
while,  in  rapid  survey,  his  eyes  glanced  from  one 
familiar  object  to  another. 

Everything  was  out  of  place,  there  were  signs 
of  disorder  everywhere;  and  the  woman  was  gone. 

Suddenly  the  wind  rushed  upon  the  house  with 
wild  violence  and  set  everything  in  the  place  a-clat- 
ter.  He  lit  the  lamp.  Then  he  seemed  to  collect 
himself  and  went  over  and  felt  the  stove.  It  was 
ice  cold.  The  blankets  were  laid  out  upon  the  floor 
in  the  usual  spread  of  the  daytime.  They  had  not 
been  slept  in. 

Into  his  eyes  there  leapt  a  strange,  wild  look. 
The  truth  was  forcing  itself  upon  him,  and  his  heart 
was  racked  with  torment. 

"  She's  gone,"  he  muttered  again,  "  an',"  as 
an  afterthought,  "  it's  storming  terrible.  Wher'  ? 
Why?" 

He  stood  again  for  awhile  like  a  man  utterly  at 
a  loss.  Then  he  began  to  move,  not  quietly  or 
with  any  display  of  stealth.  He  was  no  longer  the 
self-contained  trapper,  but  a  man  suddenly  bereft 
of  that  which  he  holds  most  dear.  He  ran  noisily 
from  point  to  point,  prying  here,  there,  and  every- 


128  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

where  for  soine  sign  which  could  tell  him  whither 
she  had  gone.  But  there  was  nothing  to  help  him, 
nothing  that  could  tell  him  that  which  he  would 
know.  She  had  gone,  vanished,  been  spirited  away 
in  the  storm. 

He  was  suddenly  inspired.  It  was  the  realization 
of  the  condition  of  the  night  which  put  the  thought 
into  his  head.  With  a  bound  he  sprang  back  to 
the  door  and  flung  it  open.  To  an  extent  the  storm- 
porch  was  sheltered,  and  little  drift-snow  had  blown 
in  to  cover  the  traces  of  footsteps.  Down  he 
dropped  upon  hands  and  knees.  Instantly  all  his 
trailing  instincts  were  bent  upon  his  task.  Yes, 
there  were  footprints,  many,  many.  There  were 
his  own,  large  moccasins  of  home  manufacture. 
There  were  Aim-sa's,  clear,  delicate,  and  small. 
And  whose  were  those  other  two?  He  ran  his 
finger  over  the  outline  as  though  to  impress  the 
shape  more  certainly  upon  his  mind. 

"  Wide  toe,"  he  muttered,  "  long  heel,  an'  high 
instep.  Large,  large,  too.  By  G ,  they're  In- 
jun!" 

He  gave  out  the  last  words  in  a  shout  which  rang 
high  above  the  noise  of  the  storm;  he  sprang  to 
his  feet  and  dashed  out  around  to  the  lean-to.  At 
the  door  he  met  his  brother.  Nick  had  beeen  roused 
by  his  brother's  cry. 


IN  THE  STORMING  NIGHT  1 29 

Seeing  the  expression  of  Ralph's  face  the  larger 
man  stood. 

"By  Gar!"  he  cried.  Then  he  waited,  fearing 
he  knew  not  what. 

"She's  gone,"  shouted  Ralph.  "Gone,  gone,* 
can't  ye  hear?"  he  roared.  "Gone,  an'  some 
darned  neche's  been  around.  She's  gone,  in  the 
blizzard.  Come!" 

And  he  seized  Nick  by  the  arm  and  dragged  him 
round  to  the  door  of  the  dugout. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

THE   UNQUENCHABLE   FIRE 

AN  interminable  week  of  restless  inaction  and 
torture  followed  Aim-sa's  disappearance.  Seven 
long,  weary  days  the  blizzard  raged  and  held  the 
two  brothers  cooped  within  their  little  home.  The 
brief,  grey  daylight  dragged  to  its  howling  end,  and 
the  seemingly  endless  nights  brought  them  little 
relief.  The  only  inhabitants  of  the  hut  on  the  wild 
hillside  that  offered  no  complaint,  and  even  seemed 
to  welcome  the  change,  were  Nick's  huskies.  They 
displayed  a  better  temper  since  the  going  of  the 
White  Squaw,  although  the  change  in  their  attitude 
was  unheeded  by  their  masters. 

The  antagonism  of  the  men  was  no  longer  masked 
by  sullen  silence.  It  broke  out  into  open  hostility 
almost  the  moment  their  loss  was  discovered,  and 
it  took  the  form  of  bickering  and  mutual  reprisal. 
Nick  laid  the  charge  of  her  departure  at  Ralph's 
door.  Applying  all  the  most  unreasonable  argu- 

130 


THE   UNQUENCHABLE  FIRE  131 

ments  in  support  of  his  belief.  Ralph  retaliated 
with  a  countercharge,  declaring  that  Nick  had 
caused  her  flight  by  thrusting  his  unwelcome  at- 
tentions upon  her.  And  every  word  they  uttered 
on  the  subject  added  fuel  to  the  fire  of  their  hatred, 
and  often  they  were  driven  to  the  verge  of  blows. 

Nick  had  no  reason  in  him;  and,  in  his  anger, 
Ralph  was  little  better.  But  where  a  certain  calm- 
ness came  to  the  latter  when  away  from  his 
brother,  Nick  continued  to  fume  with  his  mind  ever 
set  upon  what  he  regarded  as  only  his  loss.  Thus 
it  came  that  Ralph  saw  ahead,  hazily  it  is  true,  but 
he  saw  that  the  time  had  come  when  they  must  part. 
It  was  impossible  for  them  to  continue  to  shelter 
under  the  same  roof,  the  roof  which  had  covered 
them  since  the  days  of  their  earliest  recollections. 

But  though  he  saw  this  necessity,  he  did  not 
broach  the  subject,  for,  like  his  brother,  he  looked 
forward  to  the  abatement  of  the  storm  so  that  he 
might  set  out  in  search  of  the  lost  one.  Besides, 
he  felt  that  until  Aim-sa  was  found  he  could  not 
part  from  Nick.  Even  in  his  hatred  for  his  brother, 
even  in  his  calmest  moments,  jealousy  supervened. 
Were  they  to  part,  Nick  might  be  the  one  to  find 
her,  and  then  —  No,  they  must  wait  till  the  storm 
had  passed,  afterwards  it  would  be  time  to  act. 
Meanwhile,  by  tacit  consent,  they  continued  to  live 


132  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

in  the  lean-to,  reserving  the  dugout  for  the  object 
of  their  love,  against  her  return. 

At  length  the  weather  cleared.  The  search  began 
at  once.  Each  day  they  set  out  for  the  forest  and 
hills  with  hope  buoying  their  hearts ;  and  each  night 
they  returned  with  downcast  looks,  despair  in  their 
hearts,  and  with  their  brooding  anger  against  each 
other  a  dark  flame  leaping  within  them. 

Sometimes,  in  stolen  moments,  they  visited  the 
place  Aim-sa  had  lived  in.  Every  day  Ralph  would 
clean  up  the  dugout  and  leave  it  ready  for  the 
White  Squaw's  occupation  when  she  returned. 
Every  article  of  furniture  had  its  allotted  place,  the 
place  which  she  had  selected.  With  the  utmost 
deliberation  he  would  order  everything,  and  never 
had  their  mountain  home  been  so  tenderly  cared  for. 
Then  Nick  would  come.  His  brother's  handiwork 
would  drive  him  to  a  frenzy  of  anger,  and  he  would 
reset  the  place  to  his  own  liking,  at  which  Ralph's 
exasperation  would  break  out  in  angry  protest. 

The  metamorphosis  of  these  men  could  not  have 
been  more  complete.  They  hated  themselves,  they 
grew  to  hate  the  home  which  was  theirs,  the  wild  in 
which  they  lived.  They  set  their  traps  and  hunted 
because  it  was  their  habit  to  do  so,  but  always  with 
only  secondary  thought  for  their  calling.  The 


THE   UNQUENCHABLE  FIRE  133 

chief  object  of  their  lives  was  to  find  the  woman 
who  had  taught  them  the  meaning  of  love. 

Winter  was  waning.  The  soft  snow  in  the  forest 
was  melting  rapidly.  Every  morning  found  their 
valley  buried  beneath  a  pall  of  white  fog.  The  sun's 
power  was  rapidly  increasing,  and  already  a  slush 
of  snow-water  was  upon  the  ice-bound  river.  The 
overpowering  heights  of  the  valley  gleamed  and 
sparkled  in  the  cheery  daylight ;  the  clear  mountain 
air  drew  everything  nearer,  and  the  stifling  sense, 
inspired  by  the  crush  of  towering  hills,  was  ex- 
aggerated as  the  sun  rose  in  the  heavens  and  re- 
vealed the  obscurer  recesses  of  the  stupendous 
world.  And  now,  too,  the  forest  grew  dank  and 
moist,  and  the  steady  dripping  of  the  melting  snow 
upon  the  branches  became  like  a  heavy  rainfall 
within  the  gloomy  depths. 

One  day  Ralph  returned,  home  first.  He  was 
cooking  the  supper.  The  sun  was  dipping  behind 
the  western  mountain-tops,  and  the  red  gold  reflec- 
tion swept  in  a  rosy  flush  over  the  crystal  summits. 
The  winter  sky  had  given  place  to  the  deeper  hue  of 
spring,  and,  in  place  of  the  heavy  grey  cloud-caps, 
fleecy  puffs  of  white,  little  less  dazzling  than  the 
snowy  hills  themselves,  dotted  the  azure  vault  above. 
The  forest  was  alive  with  the  cries  of  the  feathered 
world,  as  they  sought  their  rest  in  their  newly- 


134  I**  THE  BROODING    WILD 

built  nests.  It  was  not  the  bright  chatter  of  gay 
song-birds  such  as  belong  to  warmer  climes,  but 
the  hoarse  cries  of  water-fowl,  and  the  harsh 
screams  of  the  preying  lords  of  wing  and  air.  The 
grey  eagle  in  his  lofty  eyrie;  the  gold-crested  vul- 
ture-hawk; creatures  that  live  the  strenuous  life 
of  the  silent  lands,  fowl  that  live  by  war.  The  air 
was  very  still;  the  prospect  perfect  with  a  wild 
rugged  beauty. 

The  train  dogs  were  lying  about  lazily,  but  their 
attitude  was  deceptive.  Their  fierce  eyes  were  only 
partially  closed,  and  they  watched  the  cook  at  his 
work,  waiting  for  their  share  in  the  meal. 

Presently  a  sharp  snarl  broke  from  one  of  them, 
and  he  sprang  to  his  feet  and  walked  round  his 
neighbour  in  a  hectoring  fashion.  Ralph  just 
glanced  up  from  his  work,  his  attitude  expressing 
indifference.  The  second  dog  rose  leisurely,  and  a 
silent  argument  over  some  old-time  dispute  pro- 
ceeded in  true  husky  fashion.  They  walked  round 
and  round  each  other,  seeming  almost  to  tiptoe  in 
their  efforts  to  browbeat.  Their  manes  bristled 
and  their  fangs  bared  to  the  gums,  but  never  a 
sound  came  from  their  deep-toned  throats.  And 
such  is  ever^  the  way  of  the  husky,  unless  stirred  to 
the  wildest  fury.  The  other  dogs  paid  no  heed ;  the 
smell  which  emanated  from  Ralph's  cooking-pot 


THE   UNQUENCHABLE  FIRE  135 

held  them.  Those  who  wished  to  fight  could  do  so; 
their  indifference  plainly  said  so. 

Ralph  went  to  the  shed  and  returned  with  some 
fresh  logs.  As  he  reached  the  fire  he  paused.  The 
disputing  dogs  had  attracted  his  attention.  A 
quick  spring  in  and  out,  a  slash  of  the  bared  fangs, 
and  the  shoulder  of  one  dog  was  laid  open.  The 
other  brutes  were  on  their  feet  in  an  instant.  The 
scent  of  blood  had  greater  attraction  for  their 
wolfish  senses  than  the  smell  of  cooking  food.  They 
gathered  round  with  licking  lips.  Ralph  stepped 
back  from  the  fire  and  raised  aloft  one  of  the  logs 
he  had  brought.  The  next  moment  it  was  hurtling 
through  the  air.  It  took  the  combatants  somewhere 
in  the  midst.  They  parted,  with  a  howl  of  pain, 
and  the  spectators  hurriedly  returned  to  their  con- 
templation of  the  fire.  In  a  moment  temporary 
peace  was  restored.  Ralph  stood  to  see  that  hostil- 
ities were  definitely  postponed,  then  he  went  on  with 
his  work. 

Suddenly,  up  out  of  the  valley  came  the  sound 
of  Nick's  voice.  It  trolled  harshly  up  the  hillside, 
giving  out  strange  echoes  which  confused  the 
melody  he  essayed.  The  listening  man  recognized 
the  words  of  "The  Red  River  Valley,"  but  the 
tune  was  obscured. 

The  unusual  outburst  held   Ralph  silent,   won- 


136  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

dering.  Nick  was  not  given  to  singing  at  any 
time,  and  the  events  of  the  last  few  days  were 
not  likely  to -inspire  him.  What  had  caused  the 
change  ? 

The  voice  sounded  nearer.  In  spite  of  the  tune- 
lessness  of  the  song,  Ralph  thought  he  detected  a 
joyousness  in  the  tone  which  was  unusual.  A 
shiver  passed  down  his  back,  and  his  thoughts  flew 
at  once  to  Aim-sa. 

Gazing  down  the  hill  he  saw  Nick  emerge  from 
the  forest  and  face  the  slope  at  a  swinging  pace. 
His  powerful  limbs  moved  easily,  with  a  springiness 
of  stride  that  was  not  natural  to  a  man  accustomed 
to  the  labours  of  the  "  long  trail."  His  face  was  no 
longer  bathed  in  desponding  gloom;  his  eyes  were 
shining,  and  his  strong  features  had  upon  them  an 
expression  of  triumph.  He  brought  with  him  an 
atmosphere  as  fresh  and  joyous  as  the  dawn  of  a 
mountain  summer  sky. 

Over  his  shoulder  were  slung  several  moist  pelts, 
newly  taken  from  the  carcasses  of  golden  foxes,  and 
in  his  hand  he  carried  two  large  traps,  which  he  was 
bringing  home  for  repair.  But  these  things  were 
passed  unheeded  by  his  brother;  it  was  the  voice, 
and  the  look  upon  his  face  that  unpleasantly  fixed 
Ralph's  attention.  But  a  further  astonishment  came 


THE   UNQUENCHABLE  FIRE  137 

to  the  waiting  man.  Nick  shouted  a  greeting  as  he 
came. 

"  A  great  day,  Ralph,"  he  cried.  "  Two  o'  the 
finest  yeller-bellies  I've  seed.  Most  as  big  as  timber- 
wolves." 

Ralph  nodded,  but  said  no  word.  He  knew  with- 
out being  told  that  it  was  not  the  pleasure  of  such  a 
catch  which  had  urged  Nick  to  cordiality.  He 
watched  the  coming  of  his  brother  with  his  quiet, 
steady  eyes,  and  what  he  beheld  beat  his  heart  down, 
down,  as  though  with  the  fall  of  a  sledge-hammer. 

As  Nick's  overtures  met  with  no  response,  he 
said  no  more,  but  came  and  stood  beside  the  splut- 
tering fire,  while  his  eyes  searched  the  gloomy  face 
of  his  brother.  Then,  with  an  impatient  movement, 
he  threw  his  traps  down  and  removed  the  pelts 
from  his  shoulder.  He  passed  over  to  the  dugout 
and  spread  the  reeking  hides  upon  the  roof,  well 
out  of  reach  of  the  dogs ;  then  he  returned  in  silence 
to  the  fire. 

His  coming  had  been  the  signal  for  a  renewal  of 
hostilities  among  the  dogs,  and  now  a  sharp  clip 
of  teeth  drew  his  attention.  The  two  beasts  Ralph 
had  separated  were  at  it  again.  Nick  seized  a  pole 
and  trounced  them  impartially  till  they  scattered  out 
of  his  reach. 

A  portentous  silence  followed.    Nick  was  casting 


138  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

about  in  his  mind  for  something  agreeable  to  say. 
He  felt  good.  So  good  that  he  did  not  want  to  tell 
Ralph  what  was  in  his  mind.  He  wanted  to  be 
sociable,  he  wanted  to  break  through  the  icy  barrier 
which  had  risen  between  them ;  he  felt  that  he  could 
afford  to  do  so.  But  ideas  were  not  forthcoming. 
He  had  but  one  thought  in  his  brain,  and  when,  at 
last,  he  spoke  it  was  to  blurt  out  the  very  thing  he 
would  withheld. 

"  I've  seen  her,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  tense  with 
emotion. 

And  Ralph  had  known  it  from  the  moment  he  had 
heard  his  brother  singing.  He  looked  up  from  his 
cooking-pot,  and  his  fork  remained  poised  above 
the  black  iron  lid.  At  last  his  answer  came  in  a 
hoarse  whisper. 

"Her?" 

"  Yes,  I  spoke  to  her,  I  guess." 

"Spoke  to  her?" 

And  the  whites  of  the  elder  man's  eyes  had  be- 
come bloodshot  as  he  stood  up  from  his  crouching 
attitude  over  the  fire. 

His  stolid  face  was  unmoved,  only  his  eyes  gave 
expression  to  that  which  passed  behind  them.  There 
was  a  dangerous  look  in  their  sunken  depths  which 
the  depressed  brows  accentuated.  He  looked  into 


THE   UNQUENCHABLE  FIRE  139 

his  brother's  face,  and,  for  awhile,  the  supper  was 
forgotten. 

"  Yes,  spoke  to  her/'  said  Nick,  emphatically. 
"  She  ain't  gone  from  us.  She  ain't  left  this  valley. 
She's  scairt  o'  the  Moosefoots.  That  all-fired 
1  Hood.'  She  said  as  they  were  riled  that  she'd 
stopped  in  the  white  man's  lodge.  Said  they'd  made 
med'cine  an'  found  out  where  she'd  gone.  Say, 
that  '  Hood  '  is  the  very  devil,  I'm  thinkin'.  She's 
scairt  to  death  o'  him." 

But  though  Ralph  listened  to  his  brother's  words 
he  seemed  to  pay  little  heed.  The  blow  had  fallen 
on  him  with  stunning  force.  Nick  had  seen 
Aim-sa;  he  had  been  with  her  that  day,  perhaps 
all  day.  And  at  the  thought  he  broke  out  in  a 
sweat.  Something  seemed  to  rise  up  in  his  throat 
and  choke  him. 

"  You  look  that  glad.  Maybe  you've  had  a  good 
time." 

Ralph's  words  came  as  though  he  were  thinking 
aloud. 

The  devil  stirred  in  Nick's  heart. 

"  Glad,   man  ?     Glad  ?     Ay,   I  am  that,   surely. 
She  said  as  she'd  been  on  the  watch  fer  me  ever 
since  the  storm  quit.    She  said  as  she  wanted  to  hunt 
me." 
You?" 


140  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

"An*  why  not?  I  ain't  lyin',  I  guess.  I  'lows 
she  ain't  like  to  say  they  things  fer  passin'  time. 
She  was  allus  easy  an'  free  wi'  me.  Mebbe  you're 
kind  o'  quiet.  Wimmin  mostly  likes  them  as  ken 
talk." 

Ralph's  eyes  darkened.  His  set  face  became  more 
rigid.  Then  suddenly  a  harsh  laugh  broke  from 
his  unmoving  lips. 

"  Guess  you're  crazed,  Nick.  That  woman's 
foolin'  ye." 

Then  he  swung  about  as  the  sound  of  a  violent 
struggle  came  from  among  the  dogs.  It  was  the 
saving  interruption.  Another  moment  and  the 
brooding  hate  of  the  two  men  would  have  broken 
loose.  Nick  turned,  too.  And  he  was  just  in  time; 
for  one  of  the  huskies  was  down  and  the  rest  of  the 
train  were  upon  him,  bent  on  tearing  out  the  savage 
life.  Nick  clubbed  them  right  and  left,  nor  did  he 
desist  till  the  torn  beast  was  upon  his  feet  again, 
ready  to  face  his  antagonists  with  undiminished 
courage.  The  husky  knows  no  other  termination  to 
a  quarrel  than  the  fight  to  the  death. 

It  took  Nick  some  minutes  to  restore  peace  among 
his  dogs,  and  by  the  time  this  was  accomplished  his 
own  feelings  had  calmed.  Ralph,  recognizing  the 
danger  of  his  mood,  had  gripped  himself  sternly, 
and  returned  to  his  cooking. 


THE   UNQUENCHABLE  FIRE  141 

And  so  the  crisis  was  passed  and  the  disaster  tem- 
porarily averted.  But  in  their  hearts  both  men  knew 
that  the  savage  wild,  ingrained  in  their  natures, 
would  not  always  be  so  easily  stifled.  Unless  they 
parted,  a  dire  calamity  must  surely  befall. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

TO   THE   DEATH 

THE  forest  gloom  is  broken  by  gladdening  beams 
of  sunlight.  They  sketch  a  mazy  fretwork  pattern 
of  light  and  shade  on  the  dank  underlay  of  rotting 
vegetation  which  the  melting  snow  has  laid  bare. 
The  air  is  weighted  down  with  heavy,  resinous 
odours,  and  an  enervating  warmth  has  descended 
to  the  depths  of  the  lower  forests.  But  Winter 
has  not  yet  spread  its  wings  for  its  last  flight. 
Spring's  approach  has  been  heralded  by  its  feath- 
ered trumpeters,  garbed  in  their  sober  plumage. 
It  is  on  its  way,  that  is  all.  The  transition  of  the 
seasons  is  at  hand.  Winter  still  resists,  and  the 
gentle  legions  of  Spring  have  yet  to  fight  out  their 
annual  battle.  The  forests  are  astir  with  wild, 
furred  life;  the  fierce  life  which  emphasizes  the 
solitude  of  the  mountain  world.  The  pine-cones 
scrunch  under  the  feet  of  the  prowling  beast  as  he 
moves  solemnly  upon  his  dread  way;  there  is  a 
swish  of  bush  or  a  snapping  of  wood  as  some  startled 

142 


TO   THE  DEATH  143 

animal  seeks  cover ;  or  a  heavy  crashing  of  branches, 
as  the  mighty-antlered  moose,  solemn-eyed,  un- 
heeding, thrusts  himself  through  the  undergrowth. 

Ralph  was  bending  over  a  large  trap.  It  was  still 
set  although  the  bait  had  been  removed.  It  had 
been  set  at  the  mouth  of  a  narrow  track  where  it 
opened  out  in  a  small,  snow-covered  clearing.  The 
blood  stains  of  the  raw  meat  with  which  it  had  been 
baited  were  still  moist,  but  the  flesh  itself  had  been 
taken.  He  turned  from  his  inspection.  There  were 
footprints  in  the  snow,  evidently  the  tracks  of  a 
timber-wolf.  His  face  expressed  his  disgust  as  he 
rebaited  the  trap.  Wolves  were  the  pest  of  his  life. 
Their  skins  were  almost  worthless,  and  they  were  as 
cunning  as  any  dog-fox.  A  trap  had  no  terrors  for 
them.  He  moved  away  to  continue  on  his  journey. 
Suddenly  he  drew  up  and  scanned  the  white  carpet. 
His  trailing  instincts  were  keenly  alert. 

The  snow  was  disturbed  by  other  marks  than 
those  made  by  the  wolf.  In  places  the  ground  was 
laid  bare,  and  broken  pine-cones  were  displayed 
upon  its  surface  as  though  some  great  weight  had 
crushed  them.  Moose  suggested  itself.  He  looked 
keenly  at  the  marks.  No,  the  snow  displayed  no 
imprint  of  cloven  hoofs.  It  looked  as  though  it  had 
been  raked  by  a  close-set  harrow.  To  him  there  was 
much  significance  in  what  he  saw.  Only  one  crea- 


144  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

ture  could  have  left  such  a  track.  There  was  but 
one  animal  in  that  forest  world  that  moved  with 
shambling  gait,  and  whose  paws  could  rake  the 
snow  in  such  a  manner.  That  animal  was  the 
grizzly,  the  monarch  of  the  mountain  forest. 

The  man  looked  further  over  the  snow,  and,  in  a 
few  moments,  had  learned  all  he  wished  to  know. 
There  were  two  distinct  trails,  one  approaching,  the 
other  departing.  But  there  was  a  curious  difference 
between  them.  The  approach  had  evidently  been  at 
a  slovenly,  ambling  pace.  The  raking  of  the  trailing 
feet  showed  this.  But  the  departing  track  displayed 
every  sign  of  great  haste.  The  snow  had  been 
flurried  to  an  extent  that  had  obliterated  all  sem- 
blance of  footprints. 

Ralph  unslung  his  rifle.  Ahead  of  him  was  the 
track,  ahead  of  him  also  was  a  further  break  in  the 
forest  where  the  sun  shone  down  with  dazzling 
brilliancy.  He  passed  on  and  looked  up  at  the  per- 
fect sky.  Then  he  took  the  direction  of  the  track. 
It  struck  out  for  the  northeast. 

"  I  wonder  if  Nick's  lit  on  it,"  he  muttered.  "  It 
'ud  be  his  luck,  anyway." 

He  further  examined  the  tracks,  and  the  white- 
ness of  the  snow  warned  him  they  were  quite  fresh. 

"  Ain't  been  made  more'n  an  hour,"  he  added, 
in  further  soliloquy.  "  Guess,  I'll  trail  him." 


TV  THE  DEATH  145 

And  he  set  off  hot- foot  through  the  forest. 

The  trail  was  well  marked,  and  he  followed  it 
with  ease.  And  as  he  moved  slowly  on  his  mind 
had  much  leisure  from  his  task.  The  direction  the 
bear  had  taken  was  towards  the  country  over  which 
Nick  was  working.  Also  Ralph  could  not  help 
recollecting  that  the  northeast  was  the  direction  in 
which  lay  the  Moosefoot  camp.  True  there  were 
many  miles  of  wild  country  between  him  and  the 
Indians,  but  the  knowledge  of  the  direction  he  was 
taking  quickly  turned  his  thoughts  into  other  chan- 
nels, and  his  quarry  no  longer  solely  occupied  his 
mind.  His  eyes  followed  the  trail,  his  thoughts 
went  on  miles  ahead. 

It  was  three  days  since  Nick  had  first  told  Ralph 
of  his  meeting  with  Aim-sa.  And  ever  since  the 
latter  had  sought  her  himself,  but  his  search  had 
been  in  vain.  And  each  of  those  three  days  Nick 
had  returned  to  camp  happy  and  smiling  in  a  man- 
ner which  maddened  his  brother.  Now  he  thought 
of  these  things.  He  told  himself,  with  warped  rea- 
soning, that  Nick  had  gone  behind  his  back,  that 
he  had  taken  undue  advantage  in  his  winning  of 
Aim-sa's  regard.  He  forgot,  or  admitted  not,  his 
own  doings,  his  own  secret  meeting  with  her  on 
the  night  of  her  flight  from  the  dugout. 

Such  was  his  mood  as  he  traversed  the  forest 


146  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

paths.  Through  dell  and  brake;  through  endless 
twilight  maze  of  black  tree-trunks;  over  moss- 
grown  patches,  and  roots  and  stumps  reeking  with 
the  growth  of  rank  fungus.  But  his  eyes  never 
lost  the  indications  of  his  quarry,  and  at  intervals 
he  paused  listening  for  some  sound  which  should 
tell  him  of  the  beast's  proximity. 

A  frozen  creek  crossed  his  way.  The  surface  was 
covered  with  the  watery  slush  of  melting  snow, 
and  great  cracks  ran  in  many  directions  through  the 
ice. 

He  crossed  it  and  the  forest  closed  about  him 
again.  The  beast  he  was  trailing  had  paused  here, 
had  moved  roundabout  as  though  seeking  the 
direction  he  required.  Ralph  followed  the  crea- 
ture's movements,  understanding  with  the  acute- 
ness  of  his  forest  breeding. 

Suddenly  he  started  and  a  half-stifled  cry  broke 
from  him.  He  dashed  forward  to  a  point  where 
the  snow  had  drifted  and  was  now  disturbed.  He 
halted,  and  looked  down.  Other  footprints  mingled 
with  those  of  the  bear.  They  were  small,  and  had 
been  made  by  moccasin-shod  feet.  He  had  seen 
such  footprints  before.  He  knew  the  owner  of  the 
feet  which  had  made  these  imprints.  Aim-sa's  were 
such  as  these  —  Aim-sa's ! 

His  eyes  took  in   every  detail   slowly,   fondly. 


TO   THE  DEATH  147 

Where  was  she  now?  He  must  follow.  Then  he 
remembered.  Something  else  was  following,  not 
him,  but  her.  He  straightened  himself  up,  and  a 
muttered  exclamation  broke  from  his  lips.  Now 
he  understood.  Away  there,  back  in  the  distant 
woods,  the  bear  must  have  scented  the  woman's 
presence  and  was  tracking  her  down.  She  had 
gone  on  through  the  forest,  unknowing  of  the  dan- 
ger that  lurked  behind  her,  which  was  hard  upon 
her  trail. 

Forgetful  of  Nick,  forgetful  of  all  else,  Ralph 
pursued  the  double  trail.  Danger  threatened  the 
woman  he  loved,  for  aught  he  knew  had  already 
overtaken  her.  To  his  credit  be  it  said,  that,  as 
he  raced  over  the  sodden  carpet  of  the  forest,  not 
one  selfish  thought  possessed  him.  Aim-sa  was  in 
danger,  and  so  he  went  headlong  to  the  rescue. 
His  quiet  eyes  were  lit  with  a  fiery  determination 
such  as  one  might  have  expected  in  the  eyes  of  Nick, 
but  not  in  those  of  Ralph.  His  soul  was  afire  with 
anxiety.  Aim-sa  was  an  expert  in  forest-craft,  but 
she  was  a  woman.  So  he  hasted. 

The  world  about  him  might  have  been  bathed 
in  the  blackness  of  night  for  all  he  heeded  it;  only 
the  track  of  footsteps  stood  out  to  his  gaze  like  a 
trail  of  fire.  His  speed  was  great;  nor  was  he 
conscious  how  great.  He  no  longer  walked,  but 


148  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

ran,  and  thought  nothing  of  distance,  nor  the  pass- 
ing of  time.  The  trail  of  pursuer  and  pursued  still 
lit,  red-hot,  before  him,  and  the  cry  of  his  heart 
still  rang  out  —  On!  On! 

It  was  noon  when  his  speed  slackened.  Nor  was 
it  weariness  that  checked  him.  Once  in  the  echoing 
wood  he  had  heard  the  distant  sound  .of  breaking 
undergrowth.  The  prospect  about  him  had 
changed.  The  forest  had  become  a  tangled  maze 
of  low-growing  shrub,  dotted  with  giant  growths 
of  maple,  spruce,  and  blue-gum.  It  was  a  wider, 
deeper  hollow  than  any  hitherto  passed,  and  the 
air  was  warmer.  It  was  the  valley  of  a  wide,  swift- 
flowing  river. 

The  declivity  was  abrupt,  and  the  rush  of  the 
river,  too  swift  to  succumb  to  the  grip  of  winter, 
sounded  faintly  up  from  below.  Suddenly  he 
halted  listening,  and  the  sound  of  breaking  under- 
growth came  to  him  again  and  again;  he  waited 
for  the  cry  of  the  human,  but  it  did  not  come. 
With  beating  heart  he  hurried  on,  his  mind  was 
easier  and  his  thoughts  centred  upon  the  killing 
of  the  grizzly.  His  rifle  was  ready  to  hand  and 
he  looked  for  a  sight  of  the  dark  fur  through  the 
bush  ahead. 

Now  his  movements  became  almost  Indian-like  in 
their  stealth.  Bending  low  to  avoid  the  rustling 


TO   THE  DEATH  149 

branches,  he  crept  on,  silently  and  swiftly.  He  no 
longer  followed  the  tracks.  He  had  turned  off, 
meaning  to  come  up  with  his  quarry  against  the 
wind.  At  every  opening  in  the  bush  he  paused, 
his  keen  eyes  alert  for  a  sign  of  his  prey.  But  the 
leafless  branches  of  the  scrub,  faintly  tinged  with 
the  signs  of  coming  spring,  alone  confronted  him; 
only  that,  and  the  noise  of  breaking  brushwood 
ahead. 

It  quickly  became  plain  to  him  that  the  bear  was 
no  longer  advancing,  but  was  moving  about  uncer- 
tainly ;  and  as  he  realized  this,  his  heart  was  gripped 
with  a  terrible  fear.  Had  the  brute  come  up  with 
his  prey?  Had  the  tragedy  been  played  out?  He 
dashed  forward,  throwing  all  caution  to  the  winds ; 
but  ere  he  had  gone  fifty  yards  he  came  to  a  halt, 
like  one  paralyzed. 

His  eyes,  which  had  been  peering  ever  ahead, 
had  suddenly  dropped  to  the  ground.  It  seemed 
as  though  they  could  no  longer  face  that  which  they 
looked  upon.  For  a  moment  his  face  worked  as 
might  that  of  a  man  in  great  pain.  Then  its  ex- 
pression changed  and  a  flush  mounted  to  his  brow ; 
a  flush  of  indescribable  rage.  Again  his  eyes  were 
raised  and  a  devilish  look  peered  out  from  them. 
•  An  opening  not  two  acres  in  extent  lay  before 
him.  In  its  midst  was  a  blackened  tree-trunk,  limb-. 


I5O  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

less,  riven ;  a  forest  giant  blasted  by  some  mountain 
storm.  Nick  was  standing  beside  it;  his  gun  rested 
against  its  blackened  sides,  and,  upon  a  fallen  bough, 
scarcely  a  yard  away,  Aim-sa  was  seated.  They 
were  in  deep  converse,  and  Ralph  was  near  enough 
to  hear  the  sound  of  their  voices,  but  not  to  dis- 
tinguish their  words.  As  he  strained  his  tingling 
ears  to  catch  the  tenor  of  their  speech,  he  could 
hear  the  movements  of  the  bear  in  the  adjacent 
woods. 

The  two  in  the  open  seemed  all  unconscious  of 
what  was  going  on  so  near  them.  Nick  was  gaz- 
ing upon  the  woman,  his  heart  laid  bare  in  his  eyes. 
And  Aim-sa  was  smiling  up  into  his  face  with  all 
the  arch  coquetry  of  her  sex,  with  that  simple, 
trusting  look  which,  however  guileful,  must  ever 
appeal  to  the  strong  man. 

For  awhile  Ralph  looked  on.  The  exquisite  tor- 
ture of  his  heart  racked  him,  but  he  did  not  turn 
away  to  shut  out  the  sight.  Rather  it  seemed  as 
if  he  preferred  to  thus  harass  himself.  It  was  the 
working  of  his  own  angry  passion  which  held  him, 
feeding  itself,  fostering,  nursing  itself,  and  goad- 
ing him  to  fury. 

Suddenly  the  sound  of  movement  close  at  hand 
broke  the  spell  which  held  him.  He  looked,  and 
saw  the  bear  less  than  twenty  yards  off. 


TO   THE  DEATH  I$I 

He  gripped  his  rifle,  and  his  first  thought  was 
to  slay.  It  was  the  hunter's  instinct  which  rose 
within  him.  But  something  held  him,  and  his 
weapon  did  not  move  from  his  side;  somewhere 
in  his  heart  a  harsh  voice  whispered  to  him,  and 
he  listened  to  words  of  evil  counsel.  Then  a  revul- 
sion of  feeling  swept  over  him,  and  he  shook  him- 
self as  though  to  get  rid  of  something  which  clung 
about  him  and  oppressed  him.  But  the  moment 
passed,  leaving  him  undecided,  his  brain  maddened 
with  bitter  thoughts. 

The  dark  form  in  the  bush  beyond  moved.  There 
came  no  sound,  and  the  waiting  man  wondered  if 
his  eyes  deceived  him.  No  cat  could  have  moved 
more  silently  upon  its  prey.  Not  a  twig  creaked. 
It  moved  on  stealthily,  inexorably,  till  it  paused 
at  the  edge  of  the  opening. 

Ralph's  eyes  turned  upon  the  dead  tree.  Nick's 
back  was  turned,  and  Aim-sa  was  intent  upon  her 
companion.  She  seemed  to  be  hanging  upon  his 
every  word.  And  Ralph's  heart  grew  harder 
within  him.  His  hand  held  his  rifle  in  a  nervous 
clutch  and  his  finger-nails  scored  the  stock.  A 
shout  from  him  would  avert  disaster;  a  shot  would 
arrest  that  terrible  advance.  But  the  shout  re- 
mained unborn;  the  trigger  still  waited  the  com- 
pressing hand.  And  the  unconscious  brother  stood 


1 52  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

with  death  stealing  upon  him  from  beyond  the 
fringe  of  the  woods. 

Solemnly  the  great  grizzly  advanced.  Once  in 
the  open  he  made  no  pause.  The  lumbering  beast 
looked  so  clumsy  that  the  inexperienced  might  have 
been  forgiven  a  smile  of  ridicule.  Its  ears  twitched 
backward  and  forward,  its  head  lolled  to  its  gait, 
and  though  its  eyes  shone  with  a  baleful  ferocity 
they  seemed  to  gaze  anywhere  but  at  its  intended 
victims. 

Ralph  stood  watching,  with  lips  compressed  and 
jaws  set,  and  a  cruel  frown  darkening  his  brow. 
But  his  heart  was  beating  in  mighty  pulsations, 
and  somewhere  within  him  a  conflict  was  raging, 
in  which  Evil  had  attacked  in  overwhelming  force, 
and  Good  was  being  beaten  back. 

Within  ten  yards  of  the  tree  the  bear  halted  and 
reared  itself  upon  its  haunches.  Thus  for  a  mo- 
ment it  towered  in  terrible  menace. 

It  was  the  last  chance.  Ralph's  lips  moved  as 
though  to  shout,  but  only  a  low  muttered  curse 
came  from  them.  Suddenly  the  air  was  split  with 
a  piercing  scream.  Aim-sa  stood  erect,  one  arm 
was  outstretched  pointing,  the  other  rested  against 
the  tree  as  though  she  would  steady  herself.  Her 
eyes  were  staring  in  terror  at  the  huge  brute  as 
it  came  towards  them. 


TO   THE  DEATH  153 

Nick  swung  round.  He  was  too  late.  There  was 
no  time  to  reach  his  rifle.  His  right  hand  plunged 
at  his  belt,  and  he  drew  a  long  hunting-knife  from 
its  sheath,  and  thrust  himself,  a  shield,  before 
Aim-sa. 

The  cry  smote  the  savage  heart  of  Ralph,  smote  it 
with  the  sear  of  white-hot  iron.  A  wave  of  horror 
passed  over  him.  It  was  not  of  his  brother  he 
thought,  but  of  the  woman  he  loved.  Nick's  death 
would  only  be  the  forerunner  of  hers.  In  a  flash 
his  rifle  sprang  to  his  shoulder.  A  second  passed 
while  his  keen  eyes  ran  over  the  sights,  the  com- 
pressing hand  was  upon  the  trigger.  A  puff  of 
smoke.  A  sharp  report.  The  grizzly  swung  round 
with  a  lurch.  He  had  not  stopped,  he  merely 
changed  the  direction  of  his  steps  and  came  straight 
for  the  forest  where  Ralph  stood. 

But  the  magnificent  brute  only  took  a  few  strides. 
Ralph  went  out  to  meet  him,  but,  ere  he  came  up, 
the  creature  tottered.  Then,  reeling,  it  dropped 
upon  all  fours,  only,  the  next  instant,  to  roll  over 
upon  its  side,  dead. 

Ralph  gave  one  glance  at  the  body  of  the  great 
bear;  the  next  moment  its  presence  was  forgotten. 
He  passed  on,  and  confronted  those  whom  he  had 
unwillingly  rescued.  The  depression  of  his  brows, 
and  the  glint  of  his  eyes  and  merciless  set  of  his 


154  -W  THE  BROODING    WILD 

jaws,  all  gave  warning  of  a  danger  that  dwarfed 
to  insignificance  that  which  had  just  passed. 

"  I  'lows  I  hadn't  reckoned  to  find  you  wi'  com- 
pany," Ralph  said,  addressing  his  brother  with  a 
quietness  that  ill-concealed  the  storm  underlying 
his  words.  "  Mebbe  I  didn't  calc'late  to  find  you, 
anyway." 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  challenge  in  his  look. 
Nick  saw  it.  His  impetuous  temper  rose  in  re- 
sponse. The  bear  was  forgotten.  Neither  alluded 
to  it.  The  two  men  faced  each  other  with  the 
concentrated  jealous  hatred  of  weeks'  growth  upper- 
most in  their  hearts. 

"Wai,  I  guess  y've  found  me.     What  then?" 

Nick  squared  himself,  and  his  expression  was  as 
relentless  as  that  of  the  older  man. 

Ralph  paid  no  heed  to  the  taunting  inquiry.  He 
looked  over  at  Aim-sa,  who  had  shrunk  away.  Now 
she  answered  his  look  with  one  that  was  half-plead- 
ing, half-amused.  She  realized  the  feud  which  was 
between  the  men,  but  she  did  not  understand 
the  rugged,  forceful  natures  which  she  had  so 
stirred. 

"  Say,  gal,"  Ralph  said  abruptly.  "  Trier's  jest 
us  two.  Ye  gave  yourself  to  me  that  night,  maybe 
you've  give  yourself  to  him  since.  Which  is  it, 
him  or  me  ?  Ye'll  choose  right  here.  Choose !  " 


TO    THE  DEATH  155 

Nick  turned  and  looked  at  her  with  strained, 
anxious  eyes.  Ralph's  face  belied  his  outward 
calm. 

"  An'  what  if  Aim-sa  loves  neither?  "  the  woman 
asked,  with  a  laugh  in  which  there  was  no  mirth, 
and  some  fear. 

"  Then  she's  lied." 

Ralph's  teeth  shut  with  a  snap. 

Aim-sa  looked  from  one  to  the  other.  She  was 
beginning  to  understand,  and  with  understanding 
came  a  great  dread.  She  longed  to  flee,  but  knew 
that  to  do  so  would  be  impossible. 

"  Aim-sa  loves  both,"  she  said  at  last. 

There  was  a  long,  deathly  silence.  The  brooding 
solitude  of  the  wild  was  never  more  pronounced 
than  at  that  moment. 

Then  Ralph  looked  into  the  face  of  his  brother, 
and  Nick  returned  his  gaze. 

"You  hear?"  said  Ralph.  "She  is  an  Injun, 
I  guess,  an'  don't  know  no  better.  Maybe  we'd 
best  settle  it  for  her." 

"That's  so." 

Ralph  threw  off  his  buckskin  shirt.  Nick  re- 
moved his  heavy  clothing. 

"  Stand  aside,  woman,"  said  Ralph.  "  Ye'll  wait 
by,  an'  your  man'll  claim  ye." 


156  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

"  Knives  ?"    said    Nick,    through    his    clenched 
teeth. 

"  Knives." 

And  then  again  silence  reigned. 


CHAPTER   X. 

THE   BATTLE   IN   THE   WILD 

THE  woman  shrank  back.  The  last  trace  of 
levity  had  vanished  from  her  eyes.  Their  blue 
depths  gazed  out  upon  the  strange  scene  with  hor- 
ror and  dread.  In  that  moment  she  understood 
the  power  she  had  wielded  with  these  two  men,  and 
a  thrill  of  regret  shook  her  frame.  She  saw  in 
the  eyes  of  both  the  cruel  purpose  which  was  in 
their  hearts.  It  was  death  for  one  of  them.  Even 
in  that  moment  of  suspense,  she  found  herself 
speculating  which  of  them  it  would  be. 

There  was  no  sentiment  in  her  thoughts.  These 
two  were  nothing  to  her.  She  would  regret  the 
death  of  either  as  she  would  regret  the  death  of  any 
strong,  healthy  man ;  but  that  was  all.  Her  horror 
was  a  natural  revulsion  at  the  prospect  of  seeing 
death  dealt  out  in  the  ruthless  manner  that  these 
men  contemplated. 

Just  for  one  instant  the  desire  to  stay  the  com- 
'57 


158  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

batants  rose  uppermost  in  her  mind.  She  stepped 
forward  again  and  raised  a  protesting  hand. 

"  Are  you  brothers  or  wolves  of  the  forest  that 
you'd  kill  each  other?  If  you  fight  for  Aim-sa, 
she'll  have  neither  of  you." 

Her  words  rang  out  clear  and  incisive.  In  her 
excitement  she  had  forgotten  the  halting  phrases 
of  the  White  Squaw,  and  spoke  fluently  enough. 
Nick  was  ominously  silent.  Ralph  answered  her. 

"  Stand  back,  an'  remember  ye're  the  squaw  of 
him  as  wins  ye  in  fair  fight." 

Then  he  cried  out  to  his  brother: 

"Are  ye  ready?" 

Nick  made  no  audible  reply.  His  face  looked  the 
words  his  lips  did  not  frame.  He  was  ready,  and 
the  passion  in  him  was  more  than  willing.  Once, 
before  he  closed  with  his  opponent,  he  glanced 
round  at  Aim-sa.  It  may  have  been  that  he  sought 
one  look  of  encouragement,  one  smile;  it  may 
have  been.  But  the  beautiful  face  he  looked  upon 
had  no  smile  for  either.  It  was  dead  white  under 
its  tanning,  and  the  blue  eyes  were  widely  staring. 
Ralph  did  not  take  his  eyes  from  his  brother's  face, 
and  the  fierce  light  in  them  was  as  the  gleam  in 
the  eyes  of  the  timber-wolf  prowling  at  night 
around  a  camp-fire  in  the  forest. 

For  a  moment  a  heavy  cloud  spread  itself  over 


THE  BATTLE  IN  THE    WILD  159 

the  face  of  the  sun,  and  the  grey  daylight  of  win- 
ter again  covered  the  mountains.  Instantly  the 
forest  lost  its  look  of  spring,  and  the  air  returned 
to  the  chill  of  the  darker  months.  The  bald  break 
in  the  forest  looked  more  cheerless  than  a  waste 
ground  in  a  city,  and  those  who  stood  about  to 
fight  for  life  became  savage  images  that  looked 
something  less  than  human.  Nick,  larger  than  his 
brother,  was  a  tower  of  thew  and  muscle.  As  he 
stood  there,  clad  in  a  cotton  shirt  and  trousers 
belted  at  the  waist,  he  was  the  figure  of  a  perfect 
man.  His  shaggy  head  was  thrown  back,  but  his 
handsome  face  was  distorted  by  its  expression  of 
hate.  Ralph  was  the  smaller  by  inches,  but  his 
muscles  were  as  fine-tempered  steel.  There  was 
even  more  of  the  wild  in  his  expression  than  in 
that  of  his  brother.  The  ferocity  in  his  face  was 
wolfish,  and  not  good  to  look  upon. 

Both  had  bared  their  hunting-blades,  long  knives 
at  once  vicious  and  coldly  significant. 

There  was  no  further  word.  The  men  bent  low 
and  moved  circling  round  each  other.  Their  atti- 
tudes were  much  those  of  wrestlers  seeking  an 
advantageous  "  holt."  By  common  consent  they 
avoided  the  tree,  keeping  to  the  oozing  soil  of  the 
open. 

Ralph  displayed  the  more  activity.     His  lesser 


l6o  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

stature  inclined  to  a  quickness  his  brother  did  not 
possess.  He  sought  to  use  art  to  draw  the  impet- 
uosity of  the  other,  and  kept  up  a  series  of  feints. 
But  strangely  enough  Nick  displayed  a  control 
which  was  surprising.  He  had  a  full  appreciation 
of  the  life  and  death  struggle.  He  had  faced  it 
too  often  with  the  dumb  adversaries  of  the  forest. 
It  was  Ralph  who  became  incautious.  His  fury 
could  not  long  be  held  in  check,  and  his  cunning 
at  the  start  of  the  fight  soon  gave  place  to  a  wild 
and  slashing  onslaught,  while  Nick  fought  on  the 
defensive,  reading  in  his  brother's  eyes  the  warn- 
ing of  every  contemplated  attack. 

But  Ralph's  swift  movements  harassed  Nick; 
they  pressed  him  sorely,  and  often  drove  him  to 
extremity  in  his  defence.  For  long  he  kept  distance, 
knowing  that  while  the  other  was  wasting  strength 
his  own  was  being  carefully  husbanded. 

Ten  minutes  passed.  Still  they  had  not  come 
together.  Ralph  charged  in  with  upraised  knife; 
the  blow  was  warded,  and  he  passed  on  only  to 
swing  round  on  the  instant  and  repeat  the  attack 
from  the  opposite  direction.  But  always  Nick 
faced  him,  grim,  determined,  and  with  deadly  pur- 
pose. Once  the  latter  slipped;  the  footing  was 
none  too  secure.  Instantly  Ralph  hurled  himself 
upon  him  and  his  blade  scored  his  brother's  arm, 


THE  BATTLE  IN   THE    WILD  l6l 

leaving  a  trail  of  blood  from  elbow  to  wrist.  That 
one  touch  let  loose  Nick's  pent-up  fury  and  he 
allowed  himself  to  be  drawn. 

The  two  came  together  with  a  terrific  impact. 
Nick  slipped  again.  This  time  he  could  not  save 
himself.  His  feet  shot  from  under  him  and  he  went 
down  backwards.  In  his  fall  he  seized  Ralph's 
knife-arm  at  the  wrist,  and  the  same  time  aimed 
a  slashing  blow  at  his  face.  But  Ralph's  agility 
was  as  furious  as  it  was  full  of  force.  In  turn 
he  caught  Nick  by  the  wrist,  and,  with  a  great 
wrench,  sought  to  dislocate  his  shoulder. 

As  well  try  to  tear  a  limb  from  the  parent  oak. 
Ralph's  effort  died  out,  and  they  lay  upon  the 
ground  fighting  to  free  their  weapons.  Now  the 
life  and  death  struggle  had  begun.  It  was  a  hid- 
eous battle,  silent,  ominous.  But  the  horror  of 
it  lay,  not  in  the  deadly  intent,  the  flashing  steel, 
the  grim  silence.  These  men  were  brothers ;  broth- 
ers whose  affection  had  stood  them  through  years 
of  solitary  labours,  trials,  and  privations,  but  which 
had  changed  to  a  monstrous  hatred  because  a 
woman  had  come  into  their  lives. 

As  the  moments  swept  by,  the  brothers  rolled 
and  writhed,  with  every  faculty  at  terrible  tension. 
Now  Ralph  was  uppermost;  now  Nick  sought  to 
drive  the  downward  blow.  Now  Ralph  strained 


162  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

to  twist  his  knife-arm  free  from  the  iron  grip  that 
held  it;  now  Nick  slashed  vainly  at  the  air,  seek- 
ing to  sever  the  sinewy  limb  that  threatened  above 
his  face. 

It  required  only  the  smallest  slip,  the  briefest 
relaxation  of  the  tense-drawn  muscles  on  the  part 
of  either,  and  death  awaited  the  unfortunate.  For 
long  neither  yielded  one  iota,  but  the  struggle  was 
too  fierce  to  last.  Human  strength  has  but  narrow 
limits  of  endurance  when  put  forth  to  its  uttermost. 
Given  no  slip,  no  accident,  there  could  be  only  one 
conclusion  to  the  battle.  Victory  must  inevitably 
be  with  the  man  of  superior  muscle.  Neither 
fought  with  a  fine  skill;  for,  used  as  they  both 
were  to  the  knife,  their  antagonists  of  the  forest 
only  possessed  Nature's  weapons,  which  left  the 
hunter  with  the  balance  of  power. 

Already  the  breathing  of  the  combatants  had  be- 
come painfully  heavy;  but  while  Ralph  struggled 
with  all  the  fierceness  of  his  passion,  and  put  forth 
his  whole  strength,  Nick  reserved  a  latent  force 
for  the  moment  when  opportunity  arrived.  And 
that  moment  was  nearing. 

Ralph  was  under  and  Nick's  great  weight  held 
him  down,  for  the  sinuous  struggles  of  the  other 
had  lost  their  vim.  Suddenly,  with  a  mighty  effort, 
the  younger  man  wrenched  his  knife-arm  free,  and 


THE  BATTLE  IN  THE    WILD  163 

a  cry,  hoarse,  fierce,  sounded  deep  in  his  throat. 
But  his  effort  had  cost  him  his  hold  upon  his 
brother.  There  was  a  wicked  gleam  of  steel  as 
both  men  struck. 

Ralph,  striking  upwards,  was  at  a  disadvantage. 
His  blade,  aimed  at  the  neck  and  shoulder,  struck 
Nick's  cheek,  laid  the  flesh  open  to  the  lower  jaw, 
glanced,  and  buried  itself  in  the  muscle  of  the 
shoulder.  Nick's  blade  smote  with  a  fearful  gash 
into  the  side  of  his  brother's  throat. 

It  was  over. 

Ralph  lay  quivering  and  silent  upon  the  ground. 
Nick  rose  staggering  and  dazed. 

He  moved  away  like  a  man  in  a  dream.  His  arms 
hung  limply  at  his  sides,  and  his  eyes  looked  out 
across  the  wide  woodland  valley  with  an  uncom- 
prehending stare.  His  face  was  almost  unrecog- 
nizable under  the  flow  of  blood  from  his  wound. 
Once,  as  he  stood,  one  hand  went  up  mechanically 
to  his  face,  then  it  dropped  again  without  having 
accomplished  its  purpose.  And  all  the  while  his 
vacant  eyes  stared  out  upon  —  nothing. 

Presently  he  sat  down.  His  actions  were  almost 
like  collapse,  and  he  remained  where  he  sat,  still, 
silent,  like  an  image.  The  moments  passed.  The 
quiet  was  intense.  A  faint  murmur  of  flowing 
waters  came  up  from  the  river  beyond. 


1 64  IM  THE  BROODING    WILD 

Suddenly  he  moved.  Then  in  a  moment  he 
seemed  to  break  out  into  passionate  life.  The  stony 
stare  had  gone  from  his  eyes.  Intelligence  looked 
out;  intelligence  such  as  one  might  find  in  one 
whose  mind  is  on  the  verge  of  losing  its  balance; 
a  fearful,  anxious,  hunted  intelligence,  face  to  face 
with  an  unending  horror. 

He  moved  to  where  his  brother  was  lying,  and 
stood  shaking  in  every  limb;  he  had  realized  the 
work  of  his  hands.  He  dashed  the  blood  from  his 
face.  The  vivid  stain  dyed  his  fingers  and  the 
touch  of  the  warm  tide  only  seemed  to  add  to  his 
terror.  He  went  up  to  the  still  form  and  looked 
down.  Then  he  backed  away,  slowly,  step  by  step, 
but  still  unable  to  withdraw  his  fascinated  gaze. 

Suddenly  a  cry  broke  from  his  lips.  It  was  bit- 
ter, heartrending.  Then  a  quick  word  followed. 

"Wher's  —  " 

His  question  remained  uncompleted.  His  head 
turned  swiftly,  and  he  looked  stupidly  about  him. 
The  clearing  was  empty  of  all  save  himself  and  that 
other  lying  upon  the  ground  at  his  feet,  and,  be- 
yond, the  carcass  of  the  dead  grizzly.  A  dreadful 
fear  leapt  to  his  brain;  he  moved  tottering.  His 
action  gained  swiftness  suddenly.  He  ran  to  the 
forest  edge,  and,  with  hungry  eyes,  gazed  in  be- 
yond the  sparse  fringe  of  scrub.  There  was  noth- 


THE  BATTLE  IN  THE    WILD  165 

ing-  there.  He  moved  away  to  the  right  and  ran 
in  amongst  the  low-growing  bush,  only  to  reap- 
pear with  more  feverish  haste,  and  eyes  whose  fiery 
glance  seemed  to  shoot  in  every  direction  at  once. 
On  he  went,  round  the  edge  of  the  entire  clearing; 
in  and  out,  like  some  madman  running  purpose- 
lessly in  search  of  some  phantasy  of  his  brain. 
There  was  no  one  there  but  himself,  and  the  two 
still  forms  upon  the  ground.  Aim-sa  was  gone! 

But  he  did  not  pause.  His  brain  was  in  a  tumult, 
there  was  no  reasoning  in  it.  He  searched  every- 
where. Bush  that  could  conceal  nothing  bigger 
than  a  beetle  was  examined;  to  his  distorted  fancy 
the  lightning-stricken  tree  presented  a  hiding-place. 
Further  he  penetrated  into  the  woods,  but  always 
only  to  return  to  his  brother's  side,  distraught, 
weary  from  loss  of  blood. 

Gone!     Aim-sa  was  gone! 

At  last  he  stood,  an  awesome  figure,  blood- 
stained, dishevelled.  He  was  at  his  brother's  side 
as  he  had  been  a  dozen  times  during  his  mad  search. 
It  was  as  though  he  returned  to  the  dead  for  com- 
pany. But  now,  at  last,  he  moved  away  no  more. 
He  looked  upon  the  pallid  face  and  staring,  sight- 
less eyes,  and  the  red  pool  in  which  the  body  wel- 
tered. 

There  was  a  long  pause,  and  the  quiet  set  his 


1 66  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

pulses  beating  and  his  ears  drumming.  Presently 
he  turned  away.  But  as  by  a  magnet  drawn,  he 
turned  quickly  again  and  his  eyes  once  more  rested 
upon  his  brother's  body.  Then  all  in  a  moment  a 
stifled  cry  broke  from  his  lips,  and,  throwing  him- 
self upon  his  knees,  he  thrust  his  arms  about  the 
dead. 

Suffering  as  he  was,  he  raised  the  body  and 
nursed  the  almost  severed  head.  He  muttered 
hoarsely,  and  his  face  was  bent  low  till  his  own 
dripping  wound  shed  its  sluggish  tide  to  mingle 
with  the  blood  of  the  man  he  had  slain. 

Now,  in  his  paroxysm  of  awful  remorse,  the 
woman  was  forgotten,  and  he  only  realized  the 
dread  horror  he  had  committed.  He  had  slain  his 
brother!  He  was  a  murderer!  For  what? 

At  the  thought  he  almost  threw  the  body  from 
him  as  he  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"  No,  no !  not  murder,"  he  cried,  in  a  choking 
voice.  "  It  was  fair  fight." 

Then,  still  looking  down,  he  drew  his  foot  back 
as  though  to  kick  the  stiffening  clay.  But  the  blow 
did  not  come,  and,  instead,  he  wrung  his  hands  at 
his  sides  like  a  child  in  distress.  Harsh  sobs  broke 
tearless  from  his  lips ;  his  breast  heaved  with  inex- 
pressible agony.  Then  he  flung  himself  face  down- 


THE  BATTLE  IN  THE  WILD       l6? 

wards  upon  the  sodden  earth,  and  his  fingers  dug 
into  the  carpet  of  dead  matter,  clawing  aimlessly. 

The  afternoon  was  well  advanced  when  he  moved 
again.  He  rose  to  his  feet  without  any  warning, 
and  the  change  in  him  was  staggering.  Now  a 
gaunt,  grey-faced  man  looked  out  upon  the  world 
through  eyes  which  burned  with  the  light  of  fever. 
His  movements  were  slow,  deliberate.  Only  his 
eyes  betrayed  his  condition,  telling  a  tale  of  a 
strange  new  life  born  within  him. 

He  moved  off  into  the  woods,  striking  down 
the  slope  towards  the  river.  He  was  gone  some 
time;  and  when  he  returned  his  face  was  cleaned, 
and  a  bandage  was  tied  about  it.  The  wound  in 
his  shoulder  was  not  severe. 

He  came  none  too  soon,  for,  as  he  neared  the 
clearing,  he  heard  a  succession  of  deep-toned  wolf- 
howls.  As  he  broke  the  forest  fringe,  he  saw  two 
great  timber-wolves  steal  swiftly  back  to  the  depths 
whence  they  had  just  emerged. 

Nick  cursed  them  under  his  breath.  Then  he 
went  to  his  brother's  side.  Here  he  paused,  and, 
after  a  moment  of  mental  struggle,  stooped  and 
lifted  the  corpse  upon  his  unwounded  shoulder. 
Then  with  his  gruesome  freight  he  plunged  into 
the  forest. 

He  held  the  body  firmly  but  tenderly,  and  walked 


1 68  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

as  rapidly  as  his  burden  permitted.  He  often 
talked  to  himself  as  he  went,  like  a  man  in  deep 
thought  and  stirred  by  violent  emotions.  Some- 
times he  slowed  his  gait,  and,  at  others,  he  almost 
ran.  His  thoughts  influenced  him  strangely. 

Once  he  set  his  burden  down  and  rested.  The 
forest  was  getting  dark  about  him,  but  it  suited 
his  mood;  it  formed  a  background  for  his  gloomy 
thoughts.  And,  while  he  rested,  he  fell  to  talking 
as  though  Ralph  were  living,  and  merely  rested 
with  him.  He  talked  and  answered  himself,  and, 
later,  leaned  over  his  dead,  crooning  like  some 
woman  over  her  child.  The  time  passed.  Again 
he  rose,  and  once  more  shouldering  the  body,  now 
stiff  and  cold,  hastened  on. 

And  as  the  evening  shadows  gathered,  and  the 
forest  gloom  deepened,  there  came  the  sound  of 
movement  about  him.  At  intervals  wolfish  throats 
were  opened  and  the  dismal  forest  cries  echoed  and 
reechoed  in  the  hollow  shadows. 

His  burden  grew  heavier.  His  mind  suffered, 
and  his  nerves  were  tense  as  the  wires  of  a  musical 
instrument.  Every  jolt  found  an  echoing  note  upon 
them,  and  each  note  so  struck  caused  him  exquisite 
pain.  And  now,  too,  the  wolves  grew  bolder;  the 
scent  of  blood  was  in  the  air  and  taunted  their 


THE  BATTLE  IN  THE  WILD       169 

hungry  bellies  till  they  began  to  lose  their  fear  of 
the  man. 

Nick  stopped  and  looked  about  him.  The  eve- 
ning shadows  were  fast  closing  in.  In  the  gloom 
he  saw  eyes  looking  out  upon  him,  eyes  in  pairs, 
like  coals  of  fire  surrounded  by  dark,  lank,  shad- 
owy forms.  One  shadow  stood  out  more  distinctly 
than  the  others,  and  he  unslung  his  rifle  and  fired 
pointblank  at  it.  There  was  a  howl  of  pain.  Then 
followed  several  fierce  yelps,  and  stealing  forms 
crowded  thick  and  fast  upon  the  creature  that  had 
bitten  the  dust. 

With  a  thrill  of  strange  dread  Nick  shouldered 
his  burden  again  and  proceeded  on  his  way.  His 
steps  were  no  longer  steady,  but  hurried  and  uncer- 
tain. In  his  haste  he  frequently  stumbled,  but  he 
was  strong,  and  he  had  a  haunting  fear  of  what 
lay  behind  him,  and  so  he  put  forth  a  great  effort. 

The  twilight  deepened;  black  shadows  were 
everywhere  about  him.  Hills  rose  before  him,  and 
valleys  sank  away  at  his  feet.  His  fancy  now  saw 
the  forest  crowded  with  prying  eyes.  Every  tree- 
trunk  became  a  figure  which  stood  pointing  and 
whispering  words  of  denunciation.  And  as  he  be- 
held this  ghostly  army  of  shadows  his  heart  quailed, 
and  the  look  in  his  eyes  grew  more  and  more 
fevered.  He  lurched  on  under  the  cold,  clammy 


IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

body  without  thought  of  his  way,  with  nervous 
dews  upon  his  forehead,  and  shaking  limbs. 

The  wolves  still  followed.  Their  cries,  vicious, 
eager,  came  to  him,  and  he  knew  that  the  meal  he 
had  provided  was  devoured,  and  they  hungered  yet, 
and  thirsted  for  the  blood  they  scented  upon  the  air. 
He  sped  on,  staggering,  and  his  mind  grew  dizzy. 
But  he  knew  that  he  had  entered  his  valley,  and 
beyond  lay  the  dugout  which  henceforth  was  his 
alone. 

His  intolerable  burden  had  worn  him  down.  He 
feared  it  as  he  feared  the  dark  shadows  of  the 
woods,  and  the  stealing  forms  which  trailed  behind 
him.  He  longed  to  throw  that  which  he  carried 
to  the  ground  and  run  headlong  to  the  shelter  of 
his  home.  But  something  held  him.  It  was  as 
if  his  brother's  corpse  were  endowed  with  life,  a 
ghostly  life,  and  that  it  clung  with  tenacious  grip 
to  the  back  of  the  living.  And  the  thought  grew 
in  his  aching  brain  that  he  was  no  longer  free  to 
do  as  he  chose,  but  was  being  driven  by  the  Thing 
he  carried.  At  the  river  he  bent  to  rid  himself  of 
the  corpse.  He  purposed  to  rest  ere  he  bore  it 
up  the  last  hill,  but  the  stiff  arms  had  somehow 
embraced  his  neck  and  clung  to  him.  With  a  cry 
of  terror  he  moved  forward  at  a  run.  Hard  on 


THE  BATTLE  IN  THE    WILD  I/I 

his  heels  came  the  loud-voiced  throng  of  timber- 
wolves. 

At  last,  ahead,  he  heard  the  yelping  of  his  own 
dogs.  The  noise  brought  him  a  measure  of  relief, 
for  the  speeding  shadows  behind  dropped  back  into 
the  woods,  and  their  voices  faded  away  into  the 
distance. 

But  the  corpse  clung,  and  its  weight  dragged 
him  back;  to  his  distorted  fancy  the  arms  held 
his  neck  as  in  a  vise.  He  gasped  painfully  as 
imagination  told  him  that  he  was  being  choked. 
A  cold  sweat  poured  down  his  face  and  set  him 
shivering,  but,  like  one  doomed  to  his  task,  he 
sped  on. 

Now  the  open  stretched  before  him  and  beyond 
lay  the  dugout.  He  saw  his  dogs  rushing  to  meet 
him ;  his  five  fierce  huskies.  They  came  welcoming ; 
then  they  paused  uncertainly  and  grouped  together 
in  a  cluster,  and  their  tone  suddenly  changed  to 
the  short-voiced  yapping  of  fear.  As  he  came  on 
he  called  them  by  name,  seeking  solace  in  their 
company  and  in  the  sound  of  his  own  voice.  But 
the  only  response  the  dogs  made  was  to  move  un- 
easily. Their  bushy  tails  drooped  and  hung  be- 
tween their  legs  and  they  turned  back  fearfully. 
Then  they  began  to  creep  away,  slinking  in  furtive 
apprehension;  then  finally  they  broke  into  a  head- 


1/2  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

long  flight,  racing  for  home  in  a  perfect  madness 
of  terror. 

And  so,  with  horror  staring  from  his  eyes,  the 
man  who  had  killed  his  brother  came  to  his  home 
again. 

Inside  the  hut  he  released  himself  from  the  icy 
embrace  of  the  dead  man's  arms,  and  laid  the  poor, 
cold  clay  upon  the  blankets  which  had  been  spread 
for  the  return  of  Aim-sa.  While  he  stood  brood- 
ing over  the  corpse  a  sound  reached  him  from  be- 
hind. Turning  he  saw  that  he  had  left  the  door 
open,  and  in  the  opening  he  beheld  the  crowding 
forms  of  his  dogs.  They  stood  snarling  fiercely, 
with  bristling  manes,  their  narrow-set  eyes  gleam- 
ing in  the  dusk  like  sparks  of  baleful  light. 

The  sight  set  him  shuddering.  Then  something 
seemed  to  stir  within  him.  His  heart  felt  like 
stone  in  his  body.  A  coldness  seemed  to  freeze  his 
blood  one  minute,  and  the  next  in  a  rush  came  a 
wave  of  fiery  passion  which  drove  him  to  unthink- 
ing action.  The  veins  in  his  head  seemed  to  be 
bursting,  and  his  brain  felt  as  though  gripped  in 
a  vise. 

Out  whipped  his  revolver,  and  six  chambers  were 
emptied  at  the  figures  which  barred  the  doorway. 
A  hubbub  of  howls  followed,  then,  in  a  moment,  all 
became  quiet.  Now  the  doorway  stood  clear;  the 


THE  BATTLE  IN  THE    WILD  173 

creatures  had  vanished  —  all  but  two.     And  these 
lay  where  they  had  fallen. 

Suddenly  a  harsh  laugh  broke  the  stillness.  But 
though  the  laugh  was  his,  Nick's  lips  were  unsmil- 
ing and  his  eyes  gleamed  furiously  out  into  the 
night. 


CHAPTER   XI. 

THE   GATHERING   OF    THE   FOREST    LEGIONS 

NICK  kicked  the  bodies  of  the  two  dogs  from 
the  doorway.  Then,  by  force  of  habit,  he  kindled 
a  fire  in  the  stove,  though  he  had  no  thought  or 
desire  for  warmth.  His  action  was  mechanical  and 
unheeding.  Then  he  sat  down;  and,  as  he  sat, 
he  heard  the  howling  of  the  dogs  as,  in  chorus,  they 
mourned  their  dead  companions. 

As  the  noise  continued  the  man's  nerves  vibrated 
with  the  hideous  dole.  It  rose  and  fell,  in  mourn- 
ful cadence,  until  he  could  stand  it  no  longer.  So 
he  rose  and  reloaded  his  revolver.  The  action 
brought  him  relief.  It  did  more:  it  brought  him 
a  feeling  akin  to  joy.  And  he  passed  out  into 
the  night. 

Forceful  action  alone  could  serve  him.  His 
dread,  the  torture  of  heart  and  brain,  found  relief 
in  the  thought  of  taking  life.  A  lust  for  slaughter 
was  upon  him. 

He  closed  the  door  behind  him,  and,  from  the 
174 


GATHERING   OF  THE  FOREST  LEGIONS      I? 5 

storm  porch,  peered  out  beyond.  The  moon  had 
just  risen  above  the  ghostly  mountain  peak,  and 
its  deep,  yellow  light  shone  down  over  the  gleaming 
crests  in  long  shafts  of  dull  fire.  Twenty  yards 
away,  the  three  huskies  were  squatting  upon  the 
ground  facing  each  other,  as  might  their  blood 
relations,  the  timber- wolves.  Their  long,  sharp 
muzzles  were  thrown  up  towards  the  star-lit  heav- 
ens, and  their  voices  trolled  drearily  from  their 
cavernous  throats,  thrilling  the  air  and  arousing  the 
mountain  echoes. 

For  a  second  there  was  a  gleam  of  light  in  the 
darkness  of  the  porch  as  the  moon's  rays  caught 
the  burnished  metal  of  the  man's  revolver.  Then 
three  shots  rang  sharply  out.  Three  hideous  voices 
were  instantly  hushed;  three  bodies  rolled  over, 
falling  almost  side  by  side.  The  labour  of  the 
trace  would  know  the  huskies  no  more. 

But  the  man's  passion  was  only  rising.  He  re- 
entered  the  hut,  thrilled  with  a  strange  wild  joy. 
A  fierceness  leapt  within  him  as  he  seated  himself 
beside  the  stove  and  gazed  over  at  the  still  form 
of  his  brother.  And  up  out  of  the  forest  came  the 
yelp  of  famished  wolf  and  starving  coyote. 

The  hunched  figure  made  no  move. 

Wild  thoughts  surged  through  his  brain,  thoughts 
which  had  no  sequence,  no  continuity.  He  had 


IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 


not  eaten  the  whole  day,  and  though  food  was  now 
to  his  hand  he  heeded  it  not.  He  was  exhausted 
and  utterly  weary  of  body.  But  he  sought  no  rest. 
He  was  living  upon  the  vitality  of  his  poor  strained 
brain,  sapping  the  tide  of  reason  which  flowed  none 
too  surely. 

The  time  passed. 

The  cries  of  the  wolves  gathered  force  and  drew 
nearer.  The  scent  of  blood  was  in  the  air.  That 
night  they  were  very  bold.  With  muzzles  thrown 
up  they  snuffed  at  the  scent  they  loved,  and  came 
with  licking  lips  and  frothing  jowls,  fighting 
fiercely  among  themselves. 

Nick  stirred  at  last. 

He  rose  and  took  his  rifle.  His  cartridge-belt 
was  still  about  his  waist.  Again  he  passed  out 
into  the  night.  In  the  shadow  of  the  porch  he  stood 
again,  and  gazed  upon  the  moonlit  scene.  Down 
the  hill  was  the  darkness  of  the  forest,  giving  the 
appearance  of  an  unfathomable  pit.  Above  rose 
its  sides,  shimmering  in  the  cold  moonlight.  Above 
the  forest  line  the  eternal  snows  glinted  like  bur- 
nished steel,  for  the  yellow  rays  of  the  rising  moon 
had  given  place  to  the  silvery  gleam  of  its  matur- 
ity. The  diamond-studded  sky  had  nothing  of 
darkness  in  it;  a  grey  light,  the  sheen  of  the  star 
myriads  too  minute  to  be  visible  to  the  naked  eye, 


GATHERING   OF  THE  FOREST  LEGIONS 


shone  down  upon  the  earth,  and  the  still  air  had 
the  sharp  snap  of  the  spring  frost  in  it.  Nick  was 
oblivious  to  all  but  the  forest  cries  and  the  crowd 
of  stealing  forms  moving  from  the  woodland  shel- 
ter, and  circling  upward,  ever  nearer  and  nearer 
towards  the  feast  which  lay  spread  out  within  sight 
of  their  cruel  eyes. 

Nearer  they  drew,  lean,  scraggy,  but  withal  large 
beasts.  And  as  they  came  they  often  paused  to  send 
their  dismal  song  out  upon  the  air.  Then  there 
was  a  scuffle,  a  wicked  clipping  of  keen  fangs.  In- 
stantly the  crowd  packed  about  a  fallen  comrade. 
Then  later  they  would  scatter  and  continue  their 
advance  in  a  sort  of  rude  skirmishing  order.  The 
man's  rifle  was  at  his  shoulder;  a  tongue  of  flame 
leapt  from  its  muzzle  and  its  report  rang  out  bit- 
ingly.  The  foremost  wolf  fell  to  the  earth,  and 
the  ravenous  horde  behind  leapt  to  the  banquet 
thus  provided. 

Again  and  again  the  rifle  spoke  its  sharp-voiced 
command,  and  death  followed  hard  upon  its  word. 
At  every  shot  a  wolf  went  down,  and  the  madness 
rose  in  the  brain  behind  the  eyes  that  looked  out 
from  the  porch.  Nick's  craving  for  slaughter  in- 
creased. He  emptied  his  belt  and  obtained  a  fresh 
supply  of  ammunition,  and  continued  to  wage  his 
fiendish  warfare.  And  all  the  time  wolves  poured 


IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 


out  from  the  woods  until  it  seemed  as  if  the  whole 
race  had  gathered  in  one  vast  army  to  assail  the 
little  stronghold  set  high  upon  the  hillside.  It  was 
as  though  Ralph's  death  had  been  the  signal  for  the 
gathering  of  the  forest  creatures  to  avenge  him. 

And  fierce  and  long  the  carnage  continued.  The 
fearsome  pastime  was  one  to  thrill  the  most  hard- 
ened with  horror.  The  still  night  air  was  filled  with 
a  nauseating  reek,  whilst  the  echoes  gave  back  the 
death-cries,  mingling  with  the  deep-toned  bayings 
of  ferocious  joy.  But  never  for  one  instant  did 
the  man  relax  his  watchfulness.  Never  once  did 
his  rifle  cease  its  biting  greeting  to  the  relentless 
scavengers  of  the  forest.  Short  and  sharp  its  words 
leapt  forth,  and  every  word  meant  death. 

The  moon  passed  its  meridian  and  sank  lower 
and  lower  towards  the  western  peaks;  and  as  it 
lost  power  the  stars  shone  more  brilliantly  and  the 
northern  lights  hovered  in  the  sky,  dancing  their 
fantastic  measure  slowly,  solemnly.  The  tint  of 
dawn  stole  gradually  above  the  eastern  horizon. 
The  man  was  still  at  his  post,  his  unsleeping  eyes 
ever  watchful.  Longer  intervals  now  elapsed  be- 
tween his  deadly  shots.  The  wolves  recognized 
the  coming  of  daylight,  and  became  more  chary  of 
breaking  cover.  Besides,  the  banquet  was  nearly 
over  and  every  guest  was  gorged. 


GATHERING   OF   THE  FOREST  LEGIONS      179 

Dawn  grew  apace.  The  silver  of  the  eastern 
sky  changed  to  gold,  deeper  and  deeper,  till  the 
yellow  merged  into  a  roseate  sheen  which  shone 
down  upon  the  cloud  mists,  and  tinged  them  with 
the  hue  of  blood.  Light  was  over  the  darkling  for- 
ests, and  as  it  brightened  the  voice  of  the  forest 
legions  died  away  in  the  distance,  and  the  battle- 
ground was  deserted  of  all  but  the  author  of  the 
fearful  carnage. 

Nick  waited  in  his  shelter  until  the  last  cry  had 
passed.  Then  he  reluctantly  turned  back  into  the 
hut.  He  sought  no  rest.  His  fevered  brain  was 
in  a  tumult.  For  a  long  time  he  stood  beside  his 
brother's  corpse,  while  his  mind  struggled  to  regain 
something  of  its  lost  balance.  There  came  to  him 
a  hazy  recollection  of  all  that  had  gone  before.  It 
was  as  though  he  stood  viewing  the  past  from  some 
incalculable  distance.  Events  passed  phantasma- 
gorically  before  his  memory,  yet  always  their  mean- 
ing seemed  to  tantalize  and  elude  him. 

And  while  he  stood  thus  the  woman  leapt  into 
the  foreground  of  his  mental  picture.  It  was  the 
tangible  feature  he  needed  upon  which  he  could 
link  the  chain  of  recollection.  Now  everything 
became  more  clear.  Now  the  meaning  of  his  broth- 
er's dead  body  returned  to  him  once  more.  He 
remembered  all  that  had  happened.  His  love  for 


180  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

Aim-sa  arose  paramount  out  of  the  shadowed  re- 
cesses of  his  deranged  mind,  and  merged  into  that 
other  passion  which  had  gripped  him  the  night 
long. 

Nor  was  there  pity  nor  penitence  in  his  mood. 
Remorse  had  passed  from  him.  Now  there  was 
no  one  to  stand  between  him  and  his  love.  He 
was  glad  that  Ralph  was  dead.  Suddenly,  as  he 
stood  looking  down  upon  the  still  form,  a  harsh 
laugh  broke  from  him  and  echoed  through  the  still- 
ness of  the  room. 

He  moved  away  and  replenished  the  stove;  and 
then,  returning,  he  wrapped  his  brother  in  the 
blankets  on  which  he  lay.  Moving  the  blanket- 
wrapped  body  aside,  he  exposed  the  floor  where 
the  treasure  had  been  buried.  Suddenly  he  brushed 
his  tangled  hair  aside  from  his  forehead.  A  sigh, 
which  was  almost  a  gasp,  escaped  him.  His  lips 
moved,  and  he  muttered  audibly: 

"  Ay,  she'll  come  to  me  agin,  I  guess,  same  as 
she's  done  before.  Yes,  an'  it's  all  hers,  'cause  it's 
all  mine  now.  By  Gar!  ther's  a  deal  ther'  —  a 
mighty  deal.  An'  it's  ours.  Hers  an'  mine." 

Again  he  passed  a  hand  across  his  forehead,  and 
his  action  was  uncertain,  as  of  a  man  who  finds  it 
difficult  to  think,  and  having  thought  fails  to  ob- 


GATHERING   OF  THE  FOREST  LEGIONS       l8l 

tain  reassurance.  He  passed  out  of  the  hut,  and 
presently  returned  with  a  shovel  and  pick. 

Now  the  hut  resounded  with  the  dull  thud  of  the 
pick  as  it  was  driven  deep  into  the  hard-trodden 
earth.  There  was  a  feverish  haste  and  unnecessary 
energy  in  the  manner  of  his  work.  At  first  what 
he  intended  was  not  quite  clear.  He  seemed  to 
be  digging  at  random.  Then  he  laid  his  pick  aside 
and  plied  the  shovel,  and  gradually  his  purpose  be- 
came plain.  A  long,  narrow  trench  was  cleared, 
and  its  outline  was  that  of  a  grave.  Again  the 
pick  was  set  to  work,  and  again  the  shovel  cleared 
the  debris.  The  ground  was  hard  with  the  years 
of  tramping  it  had  endured,  and  it  took  a  long  time 
to  dig  to  a  sufficient  depth.  But  at  last  the  grave 
was  completed. 

Nick  seized  the  body  in  its  blanket  shroud  and 
flung  it  into  the  hole.  There  was  neither  pause 
nor  hesitancy  in  anything  he  did,  only  his  eyes 
peered  furtively  about.  As  the  first  part  of  the 
burial  was  accomplished,  a  panic  seized  him  and 
he  shovelled  the  soil  back  as  though  his  life  de- 
pended on  his  speed.  He  packed  the  dry  clay  down 
with  his  feet;  nor  did  he  rest  till  the  grave  was 
filled  to  the  top. 

Then  he  paused  and  wiped  the  sweat  from  his 
brow.  The  tension  of  his  nerves  was  slightly  re- 


1 82  IN   THE  BROODING    WILD 

laxed.  He  went  outside  the  hut  to  drink  in  a  deep 
breath  of  the  purer  mountain  air  before  he  pro- 
ceeded further.  And  while  he  stood  leaning  against 
the  doorway  he  listened  as  though  expecting  the 
sound  of  some  one  approaching.  He  scanned  the 
outlook  carefully,  but  there  was  no  sign  of  living 
creature  about.  The  wolves  had  gone  as  surely 
as  if  their  visit  had  been  a  ghostly  hallucination 
which  daylight  had  dispelled. 

He  returned  to  his  labours  with  his  spirit  more 
easy  and  his  brain  less  fevered.  He  thought  of 
Aim-sa  and  that  which  he  meant  to  bestow  upon 
her. 

Near  by  where  he  had  buried  his  brother's  body 
was  the  spot  where  the  treasure  had  been  placed 
for  safety.  Here  he  began  to  dig.  The  work  was 
easy.  The  soil  was  light  and  loose,  and  gave  be- 
neath the  sharp  edge  of  the  shovel.  He  cleared 
several  shovelfuls  out,  and  then  stooped  to  rake 
for  the  chest  with  his  fingers.  He  knew  that  it 
had  been  buried  only  a  few  inches  below  the  sur- 
face. He  raked  long  and  diligently,  but,  wherever 
he  tried  it,  the  earth  gave  beneath  the  pressure  of 
his  strong  fingers,  nor  yielded  up  any  indication 
of  the  chest.  He  rose  and  resorted  once  more  to 
the  shovel,  and  a  look  of  disquiet  stole  into  his  face. 
He  opened  a  wider  surface,  thinking  he  had  missed 


GATHERING   OF  THE  FOREST  LEGIONS      183 

the  spot.  He  dug  deeper,  but  no  chest  appeared, 
and  his  look  changed  to  one  of  absolute  fear. 

Again  he  raked,  but  without  result.  Again  he 
dug,  but  now  deeper  and  deeper.  Still  there  was 
no  chest,  and  as  he  widened  the  hole  he  found  him- 
self working  upon  the  hard  soil  which  had  never 
before  been  disturbed.  An  awful  fear  gripped  him. 
He  sought  out  the  spot  where  the  soil  was  easy. 
He  knew  that  this  was  where  he  had  buried  the 
chest.  His  actions  became  hurried  and  more  and 
more  energetic.  He  dug  furiously,  scattering  the 
earth  wildly  in  his  alarm,  and  all  the  time  convic- 
tion was  forcing  itself  upon  him,  and  he  muttered 
as  he  worked. 

But  all  his  efforts  were  in  vain,  and,  after  an 
hour's  fruitless  search,  he  flung  down  the  shovel 
with  a  bitter  cry.  Then  he  stood  gazing  blankly 
before  him  with  eyes  that  seemed  to  scorch  in  his 
head.  His  face  twitched,  and  his  hands  clenched 
and  unclenched  at  his  sides.  Then  his  lips  parted 
and  he  gasped  rather  than  spoke. 

"It's  gone!" 

The  veins  at  his  temples  beat  visibly.  In  his 
ears  was  a  sound  as  of  rushing  waters.  He  saw 
nothing.  He  scarcely  knew  where  he  was,  only 
he  was  conscious  of  something  in  his  head  which 
was  strained  to  the  verge  of  breaking.  When,  at 


1 84  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

last,  movement  came  to  him,  every  nerve  in  his  body 
seemed  to  draw  up  with  a  jolt,  and  a  cry,  like  the 
roar  of  a  maddened  bull,  burst  from  his  quivering 
lips.  He  rushed  headlong  from  the  hut. 

Out  into  the  glittering  daylight  he  went,  heed- 
less of  his  course,  heedless  of  his  surroundings. 
He  rushed  down  the  hill  and  plunged  into  the 
woods.  On  he  went,  without  pause,  without  hesi- 
tation, blindly,  madly.  On,  on,  running,  stumbling, 
slipping  upon  the  sodden  earth,  tripping  over  pro- 
jecting roots  and  rotting  stumps. 

His  mind  was  a  blank.  He  saw,  but  compre- 
hended not;  he  felt,  but  the  sense  had  no  mean- 
ing. He  heard  with  clarion-like  distinctness,  but 
that  which  he  heard  sang  upon  his  ear-drums  and 
penetrated  no  further.  His  way  was  the  way  of 
the  blindfold,  his  staring  eyes  beheld  nothing  real; 
he  saw  the  name  of  Aim-sa  blazing  in  letters  of 
fire  before  him,  and  a  hazy  picture  of  her  lovely 
face.  All  recollection  of  his  loss  had  suddenly 
passed  from  him,  utterly  blotted  out  of  his  thought 
as  though  he  had  never  known  it.  He  knew  not 
that  he  had  ever  had  a  brother  whose  death  had 
been  the  work  of  his  own  hand.  The  hut  behind 
him  might  never  have  existed,  the  forest  about  him 
might  have  been  the  open  prairie,  the  sodden  ground 
a  carpet  of  fine  texture,  the  snow-covered  clearings 


GATHERING   OF  THE  FOREST  LEGIONS      185 

dusty  plains;  he  knew  nothing,  nothing.  He 
moved,  ran,  walked;  he  was  a  living  organism 
without  a  governing  power  of  mind. 

Noon  came.  The  silent  forest  looked  down  upon 
his  frenzied  progress.  The  trees  nodded  gently  in 
the  breeze,  whispering  solemnly  to  each  other  in 
their  pitying  tones.  Owls  watched  him  with  star- 
ing, unmeaning  eyes;  deer  fled  as  he  came  rushing 
into  the  calm  of  their  sylvan  retreats.  A  grizzly 
stood  erect  as  he  passed,  meditating  a  protest  at 
the  strange  disturbance,  but  remained  staring  in 
amazement  as  the  wild  human  figure  went  by,  ob- 
livious and  unheeding. 

The  afternoon  saw  him  still  struggling,  but  now 
wearily,  and  in  a  state  of  collapse.  His  headlong 
course  had  taken  the  inevitable  turn.  He  had 
swung  round  in  a  great  circle,  and  was  heading 
again  for  the  hillside  where  the  dugout  stood.  Now 
he  often  fell  as  he  went,  for  his  feet  lagged  and 
caught  in  every  unevenness  of  the  ground.  Once 
he  lay  where  he  fell,  and  remained  so  long  motion- 
less that  it  seemed  as  if  he  would  rise  no  more. 
But  as  the  afternoon  waned  and  the  evening  shad- 
ows gathered,  there  came  the  wild  cries  of  the 
wolves  from  somewhere  close  behind.  Though  he 
felt  no  fear  of  them,  he  staggered  to  his  feet  and 


1 86  IN  THE   BROODING    WILD 

dragged  wearily  on  towards  the  hut.  It  was  the 
forest  instinct  obeyed  mechanically. 

He  came  to  the  hut;  he  passed  the  door.  Again 
it  was  habit  that  guided  him.  He  kept  on,  and 
went  round  to  the  door  of  the  lean-to.  It  stood 
wide  open  and  he  plunged  within,  and  fell  headlong 
upon  his  blankets.  Nor  did  he  stir  again;  only 
there  came  the  sound  of  his  stertorous  breathing 
to  indicate  that  he  slept. 

Black  night  closed  down.  The  forest  cries  awoke 
and  their  chorus  rang  out  as  the  moon  mounted 
in  the  heavens.  The  wolfish  legions  hovered  at 
the  edge  of  the  woods  and  snuffed  hungrily  at  the 
air.  But  the  scent  of  blood  had  passed,  and  they 
came  not  too  near. 

Nick's  slumber  of  exhaustion  was  haunted  by 
painful,  incoherent  dreams.  With  the  curious 
freakishness  of  a  disordered  mind,  he  was  beset 
by  a  vision  of  the  dark,  ferret  face  of  Victor 
Gagnon.  The  trader  seemed  to  be  hovering  threat- 
eningly over  his  rude  couch,  and,  behind  him,  less 
distinct,  but  always  recognizable,  was  the  fair 
Aim-sa.  The  whole  night  the  sleeper  was  depressed 
by  some  dreadful  threat  which  centred  about  the 
vision  of  these  two,  and  when  at  length  he  awoke 
it  was  with  the  effect  of  his  dreams  hard  upon  him. 

The  fair  fresh  daylight  was  streaming  in  through 


GATHERING   OF  THE  FOREST  LEGIONS      1 8? 

the  open  door.  Nick  roused  himself.  He  turned 
uneasily,  shivering  with  the  cold,  for  he  had  slept 
where  he  had  fallen.  Suddenly  he  sat  up.  Then 
with  a  leap  he  was  on  his  feet  and  wide-awake, 
and  the  name  of  Victor  Gagnon  fell  from  his  lips. 
A  frenzied,  unreasoning  desire  to  take  the  trader's 
life  possessed  him. 

His  body  was  refreshed  and  the  blank  of  memory 
had  passed  from  him.  A  gleam  of  reason  shot 
athwart  the  racked  brain.  It  was  only  for  an  in- 
stant, then  it  was  gone  again.  But  that  instant 
sufficed.  He  remembered  that  Gagnon  knew  of  the 
treasure,  the  only  person  except  himself  who  knew 
of  it.  Victor  had  robbed  him.  A  wild  laughter 
shook  him.  Ay,  that  was  it.  Victor  was  the  thief ; 
he  should  die.  After  that  —  Aim-sa. 

His  untutored  brain  had  broken  under  the  strain 
of  recent  events.  Horror  had  driven  him  to  the 
verge  of  the  abyss  in  the  depths  of  which  lurked 
insanity;  his  final  loss  had  plunged  him  headlong 
down.  He  was  mad! 


CHAPTER   XII. 

WHERE   THE   LAWS   OF   MIGHT   ALONE   PREVAIL 

Two  men  occupied  the  back  room  of  Victor 
Gagnon's  store.  The  proprietor,  small,  alert,  with 
eye  and  brain  working  swiftly,  and  an  expression 
on  his  dark  face  indicating  the  angry  nature  of  his 
thoughts.  He  was  sitting  with  his  feet  on  the  stove 
rail  and  his  hands  spread  out  to  the  warmth.  The 
other  man  was  beside  the  parchment-covered  win- 
dow. He  was  immensely  tall,  and  was  clad  in  grey 
wolfskin  from  head  to  foot.  His  broad  shoulders 
were  broadened  by  the  fur  covering  till  he  looked 
a  giant.  He  had  just  thrown  back  a  cavernous  hood 
from  his  head,  and  it  now  hung  down  his  back. 
His  fur  cap  was  removed,  thus  displaying  a  coarse 
mane  of  long  black  hair,  and  a  face  as  sombre  and 
strong  as  the  world  to  which  he  belonged. 

The  room  was  untidy.  The  bed  stood  at  one  end, 
and  the  tumbled  blankets  upon  it  looked  as  though 
they  had  not  been  straightened  for  weeks.  A  small 
table  supported  the  remains  of  a  frugal  meal  and 

188 


WHERE  LAWS  OF  MIGHT  ALONE  PREVAIL    189 

the  floor  about  it  was  littered  with  food  and  crumbs. 
Everywhere  were  signs  of  half-breed  slovenliness. 

For  some  moments  silence  had  reigned.  The 
North,  that  Land  of  Silence,  makes  men  sparing 
of  words,  and  even  women  only  talk  when  it  is 
necessary.  Just  now,  there  was  that  between  these 
two  men  which  held  every  thought  to  the  main 
issue. 

Victor's  attention  was  for  the  moment  upon  a 
rough-hewn  chest  which  was  standing  on  the  floor 
at  the  big  man's  feet. 

"  An'  why  didn't  she  come  right  along  with 
you?" 

"  Mebbe  cos  she's  smarter  nor  any  o'  us ;  mebbe 
cos  I  jest  didn't  want  her  to.  There's  somethin' 
'tween  you  an'  me,  Victor,  that  needs  some  parley." 

The  big  man  spoke  quite  calmly,  but  his  very 
calmness  was  portentous. 

"Smarter?"  said  Victor  contemptuously,  ignor- 
ing the  latter  part  of  the  other's  remark. 

"  That's  what  I  said,"  went  on  the  giant,  in  dis- 
passionate tones.  "  Davia  reckoned  as  it  wa'n't 
jest  safe  to  light  right  out  lest  them  fellers  found 
they'd  been  robbed  o'  their  wad.  She's  stayin* 
around  to  put  'em  off'n  the  trail.  They're  dead 
sweet  on  her  an'  ain't  likely  to  'spect  who's  got  the 
stuff  while  she's  around." 


IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

Victor  nodded  approvingly.  His  face  was  less 
angry.  He  knew  Davia  would  serve  him  well.  A 
silence  fell  again.  The  stove  roared  under  the 
forced  draught  of  the  damper.  Then  the  big  man 
spoke  as  though  he  had  not  broken  off. 

"  But  that  ain't  on'y  the  reason,  I  guess.  I 
wanted  her  to  stay.  You  an'  me  are  goin'  to  talk, 
Victor  Gagnon." 

The  trader  glanced  angrily  at  the  man  with  the 
hood. 

"  See  here,  Jean  Leblaude,  you  allus  had  a  crank 
in  yer  head,  an'  I  don't  cotton  to  cranks  anyhow." 

"  But  you'll  cotton  to  this,"  replied  Jean  drily. 

"Eh?" 

"  It's  nigh  on  to  three  year  since  you  an'  sister 
Davi'  took  on  together,"  he  went  on,  ignoring  the 
interruption,  and  speaking  with  great  feeling. 
"  Guess  you  said  as  you'd  marry  her  when  you 
was  independent  o'  the  company.  It  was  allus  the 
company.  Didn't  want  no  married  traders  on  their 
books.  An'  you  hadn't  no  cash  pappy.  That's 
how  you  sed.  Mebbe  it's  different  now.  Wai? 
When  are  you  goin'  to  make  her  a  de —  your 
wife?" 

There  was  a  look  in  Jean's  eyes  that  brooked  no 
denial  or  evasion.  He  had  driven  straight  to  the 


WHERE  LAWS  OF  MIGHT  ALONE  PREVAIL     19 1 

point,  nor  was  there  any  likelihood  of  his  drawing 
back. 

"  You're  pretty  rough,"  said  Victor,  with  an  un- 
pleasant laugh.  He  was  inwardly  raging,  but,  like 
all  men  of  no  great  moral  strength,  feared  the 
direct  challenge  of  the  other. 

"  We  ain't  polished  folk  hereabouts/'  retorted 
Jean.  "  We've  played  the  dirty  game  o'  the  White 
Squaw  for  you  clear  out.  Davi's  most  as  dead  sick 
of  it  as  me,  but  wher'  she  went  into  it  fer  a  frolic 
an'  to  please  you,  I  had  my  notions,  I  guess.  I 
come  clear  away  down  from  Peace  River  nigh  on 
two  summers  ago  jest  fer  to  see  that  you  acted 
squar'  by  that  misguided  girl.  An'  that's  why  I 
done  all  your  dirty  work  in  this  White  Squaw 
racket.  Now  we've  got  the  boodle  you're  goin' 
to  hitch  up  wi'  Davi',  or  —  " 

"  Or  —  what  ?  "  broke  in  Victor  contemptuously. 

"  Or  not  one  blazin'  cent  o'  the  stuff  in  this 
chest'll  you  touch." 

Victor  sprang  from  his  seat  and  his  eyes  shone 
furiously. 

"  You  —  you  —  "  But  his  fury  was  baffled  by 
the  solemn,  determined  stare  of  the  other.  A  mo- 
ment more  and  he  dropped  back  in  his  seat. 

Then  the  great  Jean  lowered  his  eyes  to  the  hewn 
chest  upon  the  floor.  The  lid  had  been  forced  open 


IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

and  the  bags  of  gold  dust,  so  carefully  arranged 
by  the  Westleys,  were  displayed  within.  Presently 
he  looked  back  at  the  angry  figure  bending  towards 
the  stove. 

"  Guess  I'll  git  blankets  out  o'  your  store,"  he 
said. 

Victor  remained  rapt  in  moody  silence. 

"  Ther'  ain't  room  fer  two  to  sleep  comfort'ble 
in  that  bed  o'  yourn,"  he  added  significantly,  as 
the  other  showed  no  inclination  to  speak. 

At  last  Victor  looked  up  and  the  dark  half-breed 
blood  slowly  mounted  and  flushed  his  narrow  face. 

"  You're  goin'  to  stop  here  —  wher'  the  stuff 
is?" 

"  I  guess." 

The  trader  looked  long  into  the  cavernous  moose- 
eyes  of  the  Hooded  Man  while  he  choked  down  the 
rage  which  consumed  him.  He  knew  that  he  was 
a  prisoner  in  his  own  store.  Resistance  would  be 
utterly  useless  against  such  a  man  as  Jean  Le- 
blaude. 

In  his  scheme  for  obtaining  wealth  Victor  had 
omitted  to  take  into  consideration  one  of  the  great 
factors  of  a  life  of  wrong-doing.  A  man  may 
not  engage  in  crime  with  those  whom  he  has 
wronged. 

Victor  had  sought  to  obtain  good  service,  for- 


WHERE  LAWS  OF  MIGHT  ALONE  PREVAIL      193 

getting  the  manner  in  which  he  had  treated  the 
sister  of  Jean.  The  ways  of  the  half-breed  are 
loose  in  the  matter  of  morals.  Davia,  he  knew, 
loved  him.  She  was  a  strong,  passionate  woman, 
therefore  he  had  not  bothered  about  Jean.  That 
Jean  could  possibly  have  scruples  or  feelings,  had 
never  entered  his  head.  Davia  had  given  her  love, 
then  what  business  of  her  brother's  was  the  man- 
ner in  which  he,  Victor,  chose  to  accept  it?  This 
is  how  he  argued  when  he  fully  realized  the  posi- 
tion in  which  he  had  thrust  himself.  But  his  argu- 
ment went  no  further. 

Jean  was  a  man  strong  and  purposeful.  He  had 
waited  long  for  such  an  opportunity,  and  he  was 
not  the  one  to  forego  his  advantage  without  enforc- 
ing his  will.  If  Victor  wanted  his  share  of  the 
proceeds  of  the  robbery  he  must  fulfil  the  promise, 
which,  in  a  passionate  moment,  he  had  bestowed. 
Davia  was  as  clay  in  his  hands.  Jean  was  different. 
He  was  possessed  of  all  the  cunning  of  the  half- 
breed  nature,  but,  looked  at  from  a  half-breed  point 
of  view,  he  was  a  good  man,  an  honest  man.  A 
half-breed  will  shoot  an  enemy  down  in  his  tracks, 
while  yet  he  is  a  good  father  and  husband,  or  a 
dutiful  son.  He  is  a  man  of  much  badness  and 
some  good.  Jean  was  a  little  above  the  average. 
Possibly  it  was  because  his  affections  were  centred 


IQ4  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

upon  but  one  creature  in  the  world,  his  sister  Davia, 
that  he  felt  strongly  in  her  cause.  He  knew  that, 
at  last,  he  held  Victor  in  a  powerful  grip,  and  he 
did  not  intend  to  relax  it. 

Jean  was  as  good  as  his  word  and  took  up  his 
abode  in  Victor's  store.  Nor  would  he  permit  the 
removal  of  the  treasure  under  any  pretext.  This 
brother  of  Davia's  understood  the  trader;  he  did 
not  watch  him ;  it  was  the  chest  that  contained  the 
money  that  occupied  his  vigilance. 

Victor  was  resourceful  and  imaginative,  but  the 
stolid  purpose  of  the  other  defied  his  best  schemes. 
He  meant  to  get  away  with  the  money,  but  the  bull- 
dog watchfulness  of  Jean  gave  him  no  opportunity. 
He  was  held  prisoner  by  his  greed,  and  it  seemed 
as  if,  in  the  end,  he  would  be  forced  to  bend  to 
the  other's  will. 

And  no  word  came  from  Davia.  No  word  that 
could  cause  alarm,  or  tell  them  of  the  dire  tragedy 
being  enacted  in  the  mountains.  And  the  two  men, 
one  for  ever  scheming  and  the  other  watching, 
passed  their  time  in  moody  silence. 

It  was  the  third  day  after  the  foregoing  events 
had  taken  place,  and  midday.  Victor  was  in  the 
store  standing  in  the  doorway  gazing  out  across 
the  mighty  foothills  which  stretched  far  as  the  eyes 
could  reach  to  the  east.  He  was  thinking,  casting 


WHERE  LAWS  OF  MIGHT  ALONE  PREVAIL      1 95 

about  in  his  mind  for  a  means  of  getting  away 
with  the  money.  Jean  was  at  his  post  in  the  inner 
room. 

It  was  an  unbeautiful  time  of  the  year.  The 
passing  of  winter  in  snow  regions  is  like  the  moult- 
ing season  of  fowls,  or  the  season  when  the  furred 
world  sheds  its  coat.  The  dazzling  whiteness  of 
the  earth  is  superseded  by  a  dirty  drab-grey.  The 
snow  lasts  long,  but  its  hue  is  utterly  changed. 
And  now  Victor  was  looking  out  upon  a  scene  that 
was  wholly  dispiriting  to  the  mind  used  to  the  bril- 
liancy of  the  northern  winter. 

The  trader's  thoughts  were  moving  along  out 
over  the  stretch  of  country  before  him,  for  in  that 
southeastern  direction  lay  the  town  of  Edmonton, 
which  was  his  goal.  It  would  be  less  than  a  fort- 
night before  the  melting  snow  would  practically 
inundate  the  land,  therefore  what  he  had  to  do  must 
be  done  at  once.  And  still  no  feasible  scheme  pre- 
sented itself. 

He  moved  impatiently  and  a  muttered  curse 
escaped  him.  He  asked  himself  the  question  again 
and  again  while  his  keen,  restless  eyes  moved 
eagerly  over  the  scene  before  him.  He  took  a  chew 
of  tobacco  and  rolled  it  about  in  his  mouth  with 
the  nervous  movement  of  a  man  beset.  He  could 
hear  Jean  moving  heavily  about  the  room  behind 


IQ6  IN  THE  BROODING    WiLD 

him,  and  he  wondered  what  he  was  doing.  But 
he  did  not  turn  to  see. 

Once  let  him  get  upon  the  trail  with  the  "  stuff," 
and  Jean  and  his  sister  could  go  hang.  They 
would  never  get  him,  he  told  himself.  He  had  not 
lived  in  these  latitudes  for  five  and  twenty  years  for 
nothing.  But  he  ever  came  back  to  the  pitiful  ad- 
mission that  he  was  not  yet  on  the  trail,  nor  had  he 
got  the  treasure.  And  time  was  passing. 

Suddenly  his  eyes  settled  themselves  upon  a  dis- 
tant spot  beyond  the  creek.  Something  had  caught 
his  attention,  and  that  something  was  moving. 
The  sounds  of  Jean's  lumbering  movements  con- 
tinued. Victor  no  longer  heeded  them.  His  atten- 
tion was  fixed  upon  that  movement  on  the  distant 
slope. 

And  gradually  his  brow  lightened  and  something 
akin  to  a  smile  spread  over  his  features.  Then  he 
moved  back  to  his  counter,  and,  procuring  a  small 
calendar,  glanced  hastily  at  the  date.  His  look  of 
satisfaction  deepened,  and  his  smile  became  one  of 
triumph.  Surely  the  devil  was  with  him.  Here, 
in  the  blackest  moment  of  his  despair,  was  the 
means  he  had  sought.  Yonder  moving  object  was 
the  laden  dog-train  coming  up  from  Edmonton, 
with  his  half-yearly  supplies.  Now  he  would  see 
whose  wits  were  the  sharpest,  his  or  those  of  the 


WHERE  LAWS  OF  MIGHT  ALONE  PREVAIL 


pig-headed  Jean,  the  man  who  had  dared  to  dictate 
to  Victor  Gagnon.  The  trader  laughed  silently. 

Gagnon's  plan  had  come  to  him  in  a  flash.  The 
moment  he  had  recognized  that  the  company's  dog- 
train  was  approaching  he  had  realized  the  timeli- 
ness of  its  coming.  It  would  be  at  his  door  within 
an  hour  and  a  half. 

Jean's  voice  calling  him  broke  in  upon  his  medi- 
tations. He  was  about  to  pass  the  summons  by 
unheeded.  Then  he  altered  his  mind.  Better  not 
force  his  gaoler  to  seek  him.  His  eyes  might  see 
what  he  had  seen,  and  his  suspicions  might  be 
aroused  if  he  thought  that  he,  Victor,  had  seen 
the  dog-train  coming  and  had  said  nothing.  So 
he  turned  and  obeyed  the  call  with  every  appear- 
ance of  reluctance. 

Jean  eyed  his  prisoner  coldly  as  he  drew  up  be- 
side him. 

"  Wai,  I've  waited  fer  you  to  say  as  ye'll  marry 
Davi',  an'  ye  ain't  had  the  savvee  to  wag  yer  tongue 
right,  I'm  goin'  to  quit.  The  snow's  goin'  fast. 
They  dogs  o'  mine  is  gettin  saft  fer  want  o'  work. 
I'm  goin'  to  light  right  out  o'  here,  Victor,  an'  the 
boodle's  goin'  wi'  me." 

Jean  was  the  picture  of  strong,  unimaginative 
purpose.  But  Victor  had  that  in  his  mind  which 
made  him  bold. 


198  IN  THE  BROODING   WILD 

"  Ye've  held  me  prisoner,  Jean.  Ye've  played 
the  skunk.  Guess  you  ain't  goin'  now.  Neither  is 
my  share  o'  the  contents  o'  that  chest.  Savvee? 
If  ye  think  o'  moving  that  wad  we're  goin'  to  scrap. 
I  ain't  no  coyote." 

Jean  thought  for  awhile.  His  lean  face  displayed 
no  emotion.  His  giant  figure  dwiarfed  the  trader 
almost  to  nothing,  but  he  seemed  to  weigh  the  sit- 
uation well  before  he  committed  himself. 

At  last  he  grunted,  which  was  his  way  of  an- 
nouncing that  his  decision  was  taken. 

"  I'll  have  they  dogs  hitched  this  afternoon,"  he 
said  slowly,  and  with  meaning. 

"An'  I'll  set  right  here  by  the  door,"  said 
Gagnon.  "  Guess  the  door'll  let  you  pass,  but  it 
ain't  big  enough  fer  the  chest  to  git  through." 

Victor  sat  himself  down  as  he  said  and  delib- 
erately pulled  out  a  large  revolver.  This  he  laid 
across  his  lap.  And  then  the  two  men  eyed  each 
other.  Jean  was  in  no  way  taken  aback.  In  fact 
nothing  seemed  to  put  him  out  of  his  deliberate 
manner.  He  allowed  the  challenge  to  pass  and 
went  out.  But  he  returned  almost  immediately 
and  thrust  his  head  in  through  the  doorway. 

"  Ther'  won't  be  no  need  fer  scrappin'  yet 
awhile,"  he  said.  "  I  'lows  I've  changed  my  way 
o'  thinkin'.  The  company's  dog-train  is  comin'  up 


WHERE  LAWS  OF  MIGHT  ALONE  PREVAIL      199 

the  valley,  I  guess.  When  they've  gone,  we'll 
see." 

And  Victor  smiled  to  himself  when  the  giant  had 
once  more  departed.  Then  he  put  his  pistol  away. 

"  Wai,  that's  settled,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  The 
boodle  stops  right  here.  Now  we'll  see,  Jean  Le- 
blaude,  who's  runnin'  this  layout.  Ther's  whiskey 
aboard  that  train.  Mebbe  you  ain't  like  to  fergit 
that.  You'll  taste  sure.  As  ye  jest  sed,  '  we'll 
see.'  " 

The  trader  knew  his  man.  The  great  Jean  had 
all  the  half-breed's  weaknesses  as  well  as  a  more 
than  usual  supply  of  their  better  qualities.  Sober 
he  was  more  than  dangerous,  now  that  he  had 
shown  his  real  intentions,  for  he  was  a  man  not 
likely  to  be  turned  from  his  purpose.  But  Victor 
knew  his  fondness  for  drink,  and  herein  lay  the 
kernel  of  his  plan.  With  him  it  was  a  case  of  now 
or  never.  He  must  throw  everything  to  the  winds 
for  that  money,  or  be  burdened  with  a  wife  he  did 
not  want,  and  a  brother-in-law  he  wanted  less,  with 
only  a  third  of  that  which  his  greedy  heart  thirsted 
for.  No,  he  would  measure  swords  with  Jean,  and 
though  his  blade  was  less  stout  than  that  of  the 
stolid  giant  he  relied  upon  its  superior  keenness 
and  lightness.  He  meant  to  win. 

The  company's  dog-train  came  up.     Two  sleds, 


2OO  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

each  hauled  by  ten  great  huskies.  They  were  laden 
down  with  merchandise :  groceries,  blankets,  imple- 
ments, medicines  and  a  supply  of  spirits,  for  medi- 
cinal purposes  only.  Just  the  usual  freight  which 
comes  to  every  trader  in  the  wild.  Such  stuff  as 
trappers  and  Indians  need  and  are  willing  to  take 
in  part  payment  for  their  furs.  But  Victor  only 
cared  for  the  supply  of  spirits  just  then.  He  paid 
unusual  attention,  however,  to  the  condition  of  the 
dogs. 

The  train  was  escorted  by  two  half-breeds,  one 
driving  each  sled.  These  were  experienced  hands, 
servants  who  had  grown  old  in  the  service  of  the 
company.  Men  whose  responsibility  began  when 
they  hit  the  trail,  and  ceased  when  they  arrived 
at  their  destination. 

Pierre  was  a  grizzled  veteran,  and  his  was  the 
charge  of  the  journey.  Ambrose  was  his  assistant. 
Victor  understood  these  men,  and  made  no  delay 
in  displaying  his  hospitality  when  the  work  of  un- 
loading was  completed.  A  ten-gallon  keg  of  Hud- 
son's Bay  Rum  was  part  of  the  consignment,  and 
this  was  tapped  at  once  by  the  wily  trader. 

The  four  men  were  gathered  in  the  back  room 
of  the  store  when  Victor  turned  on  the  tap  and 
the  thick  brown  stream  gurgled  forth  from  the 
cask.  He  poured  out  a  tot  for  each  of  the  train 


WHERE  LAWS   OF  MIGHT  ALONE  PREVAIL     2OI 

drivers.  Then  he  stood  uncertainly  and  looked 
over  at  Jean.  The  latter  had  seated  himself  over 
against  the  stove  and  appeared  to  take  little  inter- 
est in  what  was  going  on.  Victor  stood  with  one 
foot  tapping  the  floor  impatiently.  He  had  been 
quick  to  notice  that  Jean's  great  eyes  had  stolen 
in  the  direction  of  the  little  oaken  keg.  At  last 
he  threw  the  tin  beaker  aside  as  if  in  disgust.  He 
played  his  part  consummately. 

"  'Tain't  no  go,  boys.  I'm  not  drinkin'.  Thet's 
what.  Look  at  him,"  he  cried,  pointing  at  Jean. 
"  We've  had  words,  I  guess.  Him  an'  me,  an'  he's 
that  riled  as  he  don't  notion  suppin'  good  thick 
rum  wi'  us.  Wai,  I  guess  it'll  keep,  what  you  boys 
can't  do  in.  Ther's  the  pannikin,  ther's  the  keg. 
Jest  help  yourselves,  lads,  when  you  fancy.  I  ain't 
tastin'  with  bad  blood  runnin'  in  this  shack." 

"What,  no  drink?"  cried  old  Pierre,  his  face 
beaming  with  oily  geniality.  "  Dis  no  lak  ole  time, 
Victor.  What's  de  fuss?  Mebbe  I  tink  right. 
Squaw,  Vic,  squaw." 

The  old  boy  chuckled  heartily  at  his  pleasantry. 
He  was  a  French-Canadian  half-breed  and  spoke 
with  a  strong  foreign  accent.  Ambrose  joined  in 
the  laugh. 

"Ho,  Jean,  man,"  cried  the  latter.     "No  bad 


2O2  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

blood,  I'm  guessin'.  Ther's  good  thick  rum,  lad, 
an'  I  mind  you're  a'mighty  partial  most  gener'ly." 

Victor  had  started  the  ball  rolling,  and  he  knew 
that  neither  Pierre  nor  Ambrose  were  likely  to  let 
it  rest  until  they  had  had  all  the  rum  they  wanted. 
Everything  had  been  made  snug  for  the  night  so 
they  only  had  their  own  pleasure  to  consider.  As 
Ambrose's  challenge  fell  upon  his  ears  Jean  looked 
up.  His  eyes  were  very  bright  and  they  rested 
longingly  upon  the  keg  on  their  way  to  the  driver's 
face.  He  shook  his  head,  but  there  was  not  much 
decision  in  the  movement. 

Pierre  seeing  the  action  stepped  up  to  him  and 
shook  a  warning  finger  in  his  face. 

"  Hey,  you,  Jean-le-gros,  pig-head.  We  come 
lak  Hell,  four  hundred  mile  to  see  you.  We  bring 
you  drink,  every  ting.  You  not  say  *  How.'  We 
not  welcome.  Bah,  I  spit!  In  my  Quebec  we  lak 
our  frien's  to  come.  We  treat.  All  is  theirs.  Bah, 
I  spit  again." 

Jean  looked  slightly  abashed.  Then  Ambrose 
chimed  in. 

"  Out  of  the  durned  way,  froggy,"  he  said, 
swinging  Pierre  aside  by  the  shoulder,  "  you  don't 
understand  our  ways,  I  guess.  Ther'  ain't  no  slob- 
berin'  wi'  white  folk.  Here  you,  Vic,  hold  out 
yer  hand,  man,  and  shake  wi'  Jean.  We're  goin' 


WHERE  LAWS  OF  MIGHT  ALONE  PREVAIL     203 

to  hev  a  time  to-night,  or  I'll  quit  the  road  for 


ever." 


Victor  shrugged.  Then  he  picked  up  a  pannikin 
and  filled  it  with  rum.  He  held  it  out  in  his  left 
hand  towards  Jean  while  he  offered  his  right  in 
token  of  friendship.  Jean  eyed  the  outstretched 
hand.  Then  he  looked  at  the  rum,  and  the  insidi- 
ous odour  filled  his  nostrils.  The  temptation  was 
too  great,  as  Victor  knew  it  would  be,  for  him. 
He  thrust  one  great  hand  into  the  trader's  and  the 
two  men  shook;  then  he  took  the  drink  and  gulped 
it  down. 

The  armistice  was  declared,  and  Victor,  in  imag- 
ination, already  saw  the  treasure  his. 

Now  the  pannikin  passed  round  merrily.  The 
room  reeked  with  the  pungent  odour  of  the  spirit 
and  all  was  apparently  harmonious.  Victor  re- 
signed his  post  as  dispenser  of  liquor  to  Ambrose, 
and  began  his  series  of  stock  entertainments.  He 
drank  as  little  as  possible  himself,  though  he  could 
not  openly  shirk  his  drink,  and  he  always  kept  one 
eye  upon  Jean  to  see  that  he  was  well  supplied ;  and 
so  the  time  slipped  by. 

After  the  first  taste  Jean  became  a  different  man ; 
he  laughed  and  jested  in  his  slow,  coarse  fashion, 
and,  with  him,  all  seemed  good-fellowship.  Pierre 
and  Ambrose  soon  began  to  get  drunk  and  Victor's 


2O4  M  THE  BROODING    WILD 

voice,  as  he  sang,  was  mostly  drowlned  by  the  roll- 
ing tones  of  these  hoary-headed  old  sinners  as  they 
droned  out  the  choruses  of  his  songs. 

Now,  as  the  merriment  waxed,  Victor  was  able 
to  shirk  his  drink  deliberately.  Jean  seemed  in- 
satiable, and  soon  his  great  body  swayed  in  a  most 
drunken  fashion,  and  he  clung  to  his  seat  as  if 
fearing  to  trust  his  legs.  He  joined  in  every  chorus 
and  never  lost  an  opportunity  of  addressing  Victor 
in  terms  of  deepest  friendliness.  And  in  every 
pause  in  the  noise  he  seized  upon  the  chance  to 
burst  out  into  some  wild  ditty  of  his  own.  Victor 
watched  with  cat-like  vigilance,  and  what  he  saw 
pleased  him  mightily.  Jean  was  drunk.  And  he 
would  see  to  it  that  before  he  had  done  the  giant 
would  be  hopelessly  so. 

Evening  came  on.  Ambrose  was  the  first  to  col- 
lapse. The  others  laughed  and  left  him  to  his  deep 
dreamless  slumber  upon  the  floor.  Victor  was 
wearied  of  it  all,  but  he  knew  he  must  see  the 
game  out.  Jean's  eyelids  were  drooping  heavily, 
and  he,  too,  seemed  on  the  verge  of  collapse.  Only 
old  Pierre,  hardened  to  the  ways  of  his  life,  flagged 
not.  Suddenly  the  Frenchman  saw  Jean's  head 
droop  forward.  In  a  moment  he  was  on  his  un- 
steady legs  and  filling  a  pannikin  to  the  brim.  He 
laughed  as  he  drew  Victor's  attention,  and  the  lat- 


WHERE  LAWS  OF  MIGHT  ALONE  PREVAIL     2O$ 

ter  nodded  approval.  Then  he  put  it  to  the  giant's 
lips.  The  big  man  supped  a  little  of  it,  then,  his 
head  falling  further  forward,  he  upset  the  panni- 
kin, and  the  contents  poured  upon  the  earthen  floor. 
At  the  same  time,  as  though  utterly  helpless,  he 
rolled  off  his  seat  and  fell  to  the  ground,  snoring 
heavily.  Pierre  shouted  his  delight.  Only  Victor 
and  he  were  left.  They  knew  how  to  take  their 
liquor,  the  old  hands.  His  pride  of  achievement 
was  great.  He  would  see  Victor  under  the  table, 
too,  he  told  himself.  He  stood  over  the  trader 
while  the  latter  drank  a  bumper.  Then  he,  him- 
self, drank  to  the  dregs.  It  was  the  last  straw. 
He  swayed  and  lurched  to  the  outer  door.  There 
he  stood  for  a  moment,  then  the  cold  night  air  did 
for  him  what  the  rum  had  been  powerless  to  do. 
Without  warning  he  fell  in  a  heap  upon  the  door- 
step as  unconscious  as  though  he  had  been  struck 
dead. 

Victor  alone  kept  his  head. 

The  trader  rose  from  his  seat  and  stretched  him- 
self. Then,  stealthily,  he  went  the  round  of  the 
prostrate  men.  He  shook  Ambrose,  but  could  not 
wake  him.  Jean  he  stood  over  for  awhile  and 
silently  watched  the  stern  face.  There  was  not 
a  shade  of  consciousness  in  its  expression.  He  bent 
down  and  touched  him.  Still  no  movement.  He 


2O6  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

shook  him  gently,  then  more  roughly.  He  was 
like  a  log.  Victor  grinned  with  a  fiendish  leer. 

"  Guess  he's  fixed,"  he  muttered. 

Then  he  went  out  into  the  store  and  came  to  the 
door  where  old  Pierre  had  fallen.  The  French- 
man was  no  better  than  the  others. 

"  Good !  By  Gar,  Jean,  my  friend,  I've  done 
you,"  he  said  to  himself,  as,  reassured,  he  went 
back  to  the  inner  room.  He  was  none  too  steady 
himself,  but  he  had  all  his  wits  about  him.  The 
chest  was  near  the  bed.  He  picked  it  up  and  opened 
it.  The  treasure  was  there  safe  enough.  He  closed 
the  lid  and  took  it  up  in  his  arms,  and  passed  out 
of  the  store.  Nor  did  he  look  back.  He  was  anx- 
ious to  be  gone. 

It  was  the  chance  of  his  lifetime,  he  told  himself, 
as  he  hastened  to  deposit  the  chest  in  the  sled. 
Now  he  set  about  obtaining  his  blankets  and  pro- 
visions. His  journey  would  be  an  arduous  one, 
and  nobody  knew  better  than  he  the  barrenness  of 
that  Northwestern  land  while  the  icy  grip  of  win- 
ter still  clings.  A  large  quantity  of  the  food  stuffs 
which  had  only  arrived  that  day  was  returned  to 
the  sled,  and  some  of  the  new  blankets.  Then  he 
shipped  a  rifle  and  ammunition. 

Now  was  the  trader  to  be  seen  in  his  true  light. 
Here  was  emergency,  when  all  veneer  fell  from 


WHERE  LAWS  OF  MIGHT  ALONE  PREVAIL     2QJ 

him  as  the  green  coat  of  summer  falls  from  the 
trees  at  the  first  breath  of  winter.  His  haste  was 
not  the  swift  movements  of  a  man  whose  nerve  is 
steady.  He  knew  that  he  had  at  least  twelve  hours 
before  any  one  of  the  three  men  were  likely  to 
awaken  from  their  drunken  stupor.  And  yet  he 
feared.  Nor  did  he  know  what  he  feared.  And 
his  nerves  made  him  savage  as  he  handled  the  dogs. 
They  were  living  creatures  and  could  feel,  so  he 
wantonly  belted  them  with  a  club  lest  they  should 
hesitate  to  obey  their  new  master.  The  great  wolf- 
ish creatures  had  more  courage  than  he  had;  they 
took  the  unjust  treatment  without  open  complaint, 
as  is  the  way  of  the  husky,  tacitly  resenting  it  and 
eying  with  fierce,  contemptuous  eyes  the  cowardly 
wretch  who  so  treated  them.  They  slunk  slowly 
and  with  down-drooped  tails  and  bristling  manes 
into  their  places  in  the  traces,  and  stood  ready  for 
the  word  to  pull.  Victor  surveyed  them  with  little 
satisfaction,  for  now  that  all  was  ready  to  march 
he  was  beset  with  moral  apprehensions. 

He  could  not  throw  off  his  dread.  It  may  have 
been  that  he  feared  that  bleak  four  hundred  mile 
journey.  It  may  have  been  the  loneliness  which 
he  contemplated.  It  may  have  been  that  he  recol- 
lected the  time  when  those  whom  he  had  robbed 
had  saved  him  from  the  storm,  away  back  there  in 


208  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

the  heart  of  the  mountains.  He  shivered,  and 
started  at  every  night-sound  that  broke  the  still- 
ness. 

The  lead  dog  lay  down  in  the  sloppy  snow.  Vic- 
tor flew  into  a  passion,  and,  running  forward,  dealt 
the  poor  brute  a  kick  that  would  have  been  suffi- 
cient to  break  an  ordinary  dog's  ribs.  With  a 
wicked  snarl  the  beast  rose  solemnly  to  its  feet. 
Suddenly  its  wolf-ears  pricked  and  it  stared  out 
keenly  ahead.  The  man  looked  too.  It  seemed 
to  him  that  he  had  heard  the  sound  of  some  one 
walking.  He  gazed  long  and  earnestly  out  into 
the  darkness,  but  all  seemed  quite  still.  He  looked 
at  the  dog  again.  Its  ears  were  still  pricked,  but 
they  were  twitching  uncertainly,  as  though  not  sure 
of  the  direction  whence  the  sound  had  come. 

Victor  cursed  the  brute  and  moved  back  to  the 
sled.  The  word  "  Mush  "  was  hovering  on  his  lips. 
Suddenly  his  eyes  chanced  upon  the  slumbering 
form  of  old  Pierre  lying  in  a  heap  where  he  had 
fallen  in  the  doorway.  It  is  impossible  to  say  what 
made  him  pause  to  give  a  second  thought  to  those 
he  was  leaving  behind.  He  had  known  Pierre  for 
years,  and  had  always  been  as  friendly  as  his  selfish, 
cruel  nature  would  permit.  Perhaps  some  such 
feeling  now  made  him  hesitate.  It  might  even  have 
been  his  knowledge  of  the  wild  that  made  him  view 


WHERE  LAWS  OF  MIGHT  ALONE  PREVAIL     2OQ 

the  helpless  figure  with  some  concern.  The  vagaries 
of  human  nature  are  remarkable.  Something  held 
him,  then  he  turned  quickly  from  the  sled,  and, 
stepping  up  to  the  old  man's  side,  stooped,  and 
putting  his  arms  about  him,  dragged  him  bodily 
into  the  store.  Pierre  did  not  rouse  but  remained 
quite  still  where  Victor  left  him.  Then  the  trader 
Went  out  again.  His  back  was  turned  as  he  reached 
to  close  the  door.  It  would  not  quite  shut  and  he 
pulled  it  hard.  Then,  as  it  still  resisted  his  efforts, 
he  turned  away.  As  he  turned  he  reeled  back  with 
a  great  cry. 

Something  large  and  dark  faced  him.  And,  even 
in  the  darkness,  he  could  make  out  a  shining  ring 
of  metal  close  in  front  of  his  face. 

Victor's  horror-stricken  cry  was  the  only  sound 
that  came.  In  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  the  metal 
ring  disappeared.  Victor  felt  two  bony  hands  seize 
him  by  the  throat.  The  next  instant  he  was  hurled 
to  the  ground,  and  a  knee  was  upon  his  chest.  A 
weight  compressed  his  lungs  and  he  could  scarcely 
breathe.  Then  he  felt  the  revolver  belt  dragged 
from  about  his  waist  and  his  long  sheath-knife  with- 
'drawn  from  its  sheath.  Then,  and  not  till  then, 
the  pressure  on  his  chest  relaxed,  and  the  hand  that 
had  gripped  his  throat  released  its  hold.  The  next 
moment  he  was  lifted  to  his  feet  as  though  he  were 


210  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

a  mere  puppet,  and  the  voice  of  Jean  Leblaude 
broke  harshly  upon  his  ears. 

"  Guess  your  bluff  wa'n't  wuth  a  cent,  Victor 
Gagnon.  I  see'd  this  comin'  the  minit  you  pass'd 
me  the  drink.  I  'lows  ye  ken  mostly  tell  a  skunk 
by  the  stink.  I  rec'nized  you  awhiles  back.  Guess 
you  ain't  lightin'  out  o'  here  this  night.  Come 
right  along." 

The  trader  had  no  choice.  Jean  had  him  foul, 
gripping  him  with  a  clutch  that  was  vise-like.  The 
giant's  great  strength  was  irresistible  when  put 
forth  in  the  deadly  earnestness  of  passion,  and  just 
now  he  could  hardly  hold  his  hand  from  breaking 
the  neck  which  was  so  slight  beneath  his  sinewy 
fingers. 

Just  for  one  instant  Victor  made  a  faint  struggle. 
As  well  attempt  to  resist  Doom.  Jean  shook  him 
like  a  rat  and  thrust  him  before  him  in  the  direction 
of  the  woods  behind  the  store. 

"  You'll  pay  fer  this,"  the  trader  said,  between  his 
teeth. 

But  Jean  gave  no  heed  to  his  impotent  rage.  He 
pushed  him  along  in  silence,  nor  did  he  pause  till 
the  secret  huts  were  reached.  He  opened  the  door 
of  one  and  dragged  his  captive  in.  There  was  no 
light  within.  But  this  seemed  no  embarrassment 
to  the  purposeful  man.  He  strode  straight  over 


WHERE  LAWS  OF  MIGHT  ALONE  PREVAIL     211 

to  one  corner  of  the  room  and  took  a  long,  plaited 
lariat  from  the  wall.  In  three  minutes  Victor  was 
trussed  and  laid  upon  the  ground  bound  up  like 
a  mummy. 

Now  Jean  lighted  a  lamp  and  looked  down  at 
his  victim;  there  was  not  the  faintest  sign  of  drink 
about  him,  and  as  Victor  noticed  this  he  cursed  him- 
self bitterly. 

There  was  an  impressive  silence.  Then  Jean's 
words  came  slowly.  He  expressed  no  emotion,  no 
passion;  just  the  purpose  of  a  strong  man  who 
moves  relentlessly  on  to  his  desired  end. 

Gagnon  realized  to  the  full  the  calamity  which 
had  befallen  him. 

"  Ye'll  wait  right  here  till  Davi'  gits  back.  She's 
goin'  to  git  her  ears  full  o'  you,  I  guess.  Say,  she 
was  sweet  on  you  —  mighty  sweet.  But  she's  that 
sensible  as  it  don't  worry  any.  Say,  you  ain't  goin' 
to  marry  that  gal;  ye  never  meant  to.  You're  a 
skunk,  an'  I'd  as  lief  choke  the  life  out  o'  ye  as 
not.  But  I'm  goin'  to  pay  ye  sorer  than  that. 
Savvee?  Ye'll  bide  here  till  Davi'  comes.  I'll  jest 
fix  this  wedge  in  your  mouth  till  I've  cleared  them 
drivers  out  o'  the  store.  I  don't  fancy  to  hear  your 
lungs  exercisin'  when  I'm  busy." 

With  easy  deftness  Jean  gagged  his  prisoner. 
Then  he  glanced  round  the  windowless  shack  to 


212  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

see  if  there  was  any  weapon  or  other  thing  about 
that  could  possibly  assist  the  trader  to  free  himself. 
Having  assured  himself  that  all  was  safe  he  put 
out  the  light  and  passed  out,  securing  the  door 
behind  him. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

OUT   ON    THE   NORTHLAND   TRAIL 

NOON,  the  following  day,  saw  the  dog-train  de- 
part on  its  homeward  journey.  The  way  of  it  was 
curious  and  said  much  for  the  simplicity  of  these 
"  old  hands  "  of  the  northland  trail.  They  were 
giants  of  learning  in  all  pertaining  to  their  calling; 
infants  in  everything  that  had  to  do  with  the  world 
of  men. 

Thus  Jean  Leblaude's  task  was  one  of  no  great 
difficulty.  It  was  necessary  that  he  should  throw 
dust  in  their  eyes.  And  such  a  dust  storm  he  raised 
about  their  simple  heads  that  they  struck  the  trail 
utterly  blinded  to  the  events  of  the  previous  night. 

While  they  yet  slumbered  Jean  had  freed  the 
dogs  from  their  traces,  and  unloaded  the  sled  which 
bore  the  treasure-chest.  He  had  restored  every- 
thing to  its  proper  place;  and  so  he  awaited  the 
coming  of  the  morning.  He  did  not  sleep;  he 
watched,  ready  for  every  emergency. 

When,  at  last,  the  two  men  stirred  he  was  at 
213 


214  *N  THE  BROODING    WILD 

hand.  Rolling  Pierre  over  he  shook  him  violently 
till  the  old  man  sat  up,  staring  about  him  in  a  daze. 
A  beaker  of  rum  was  thrust  against  his  parched 
lips,  and  he  drank  greedily.  The  generous  spirit 
warmed  the  Frenchman's  chilled  body  and  roused 
him.  Then  Jean  performed  the  same  merciful 
operation  upon  Ambrose,  and  the  two  unrepentant 
sinners  were  on  their  legs  again,  with  racking  heads, 
and  feeling  very  ill. 

But  Jean  cared  nothing  for  their  sufferings;  he 
wanted  to  be  rid  of  them.  He  gave  them  no  chance 
to  question  him;  not  that  they  had  any  desire  to 
do  so,  in  fact  it  was  doubtful  if  they  fully  realized 
anything  that  was  happening.  And  he  launched 
into  his  carefully  considered  story. 

"  Victor's  gone  up  to  the  hills  'way  back  ther'," 
he  said.  "  Ther's  been  a  herd  o'  moose  come  down, 
from  the  moose-yard,  further  north,  an*  he's  after 
their  pelts.  Say,  he  left  word  fer  you  to  git  right 
on  loadin'  the  furs,  an'  when  ye  hit  the  trail  ye're  to 
take  three  bottles  o'  the  Rye,  an'  some  o'  the  rum. 
He  says  he  ain't  like  to  be  back  fer  nigh  on  three 
days." 

And  while  he  was  speaking  the  two  men  supped-* 
their  coffee,  and,  as  they  moistened  their  parched 
and  burning  throats,  they  nodded  assent  to  all  Jean 
had  to  say.     At  that  moment  Victor,  or  any  one 


OUT  ON  THE  NORTHLAND    TRAIL  21$ 

else,  might  go  hang.  All  they  thought  of  was  the 
awful  thirst  that  assailed  them. 

Breakfast  over,  the  work  of  loading  the  sleds 
proceeded  with  the  utmost  dispatch.  Thus  it  was 
that  at  noon,  without  question,  without  the  small- 
est suspicion  of  the  night's  doings,  they  set  out  for 
the  weary  "  long  trail." 

Jean  saw  them  go.  He  stood  at  the  door  of  the 
store  and  watched  them  until  they  disappeared  be- 
hind the  rising  ground  of  the  great  Divide.  Then 
his  solemn  eyes  turned  away  indifferently,  and  he 
gazed  out  into  the  hazy  distance.  His  gaunt  face 
showed  nothing  of  what  was  passing  in  the  brain 
behind  it.  He  rarely  displayed  emotion  of  any  sort. 
The  Indian  blood  in  his  veins  preponderated,  and 
much  of  the  stoical  calm  of  the  Redskin  was  his. 
Now  he  could  wait,  undisturbed,  for  the  return  of 
Davia.  He  felt  that  he  had  mastered  the  situation. 
He  could  not  make  Victor  marry  the  sister  he  had 
wronged,  but  at  least  he  could  pay  off  Jhe  wrong 
in  his  own  way,  and  to  his  entire  satisfaction.  Two 
years  he  had  waited  for  the  adjustment  of  these 
matters.  He  was  glad  that  he  had  exercised  pa- 
tience. He  might  have  slain  Victor  a  hundred 
times  over,  but  he  had  refrained,  vainly  hoping 
to  see  his  sister  righted.  Besides,  he  knew  that 
Davia  had  loved  Victor,  and  women  are  peculiar. 


2l6  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

Who  might  say  but  that  she  would  have  fled  from 
the  murderer  of  her  lover?  Jean  felt  well  satisfied 
on  the  whole.  So  he  stood  thinking  and  waiting 
with  a  calm  mind. 

But  the  tragedy  was  working  itself  out  in  a  man- 
ner little  suspected,  little  expected,  by  him.  This 
he  was  soon  to  learn. 

The  grey  spring  snow  spread  itself  out  on  every 
hand,  only  was  the  wood-lined  hill,  which  stretched 
away  to  the  right  and  left  of  him,  and  behind  the 
hut,  bare  of  the  wintry  pall.  The  sky  was  brilliant 
in  contrast  with  the  greyness  of  the  world  beneath 
it,  and  the  sun  shone  high  in  the  blue  vault.  Every- 
where was  the  deadly  calm  of  the  Silent  North. 
The  presence  of  any  moving  forest  beast  in  that 
brooding  picture,  however  distant,  must  surely  have 
caught  the  eye.  There  was  not  a  living  thing  to 
be  seen.  These  woful  wastes  have  much  to  do  with 
the  rugged  nature  of  those  who  dwell  in  the  north. 

Suddenly  the  whole  prospect  seemed  to  be  elec- 
trified with  a  thrill  of  life.  The  change  came  with 
a  swift  movement  of  the  man's  quiet  eyes.  Nothing 
had  really  altered  in  the  picture,  nothing  had  ap- 
peared, and  yet  that  swift  flash  of  the  eyes  had 
brought  a  suggestion  of  something  which  broke 
up  the  solitude  as  though  it  had  never  been. 

Awhile,  and  his  attention  became  fixed  upon  the 


OUT  ON  THE  NORTHLAND    TRAIL          21 7 

long  line  of  woods  to  the  right.  Then  his  ears 
caught  a  slight  but  distinct  sound.  He  stood  away 
from  the  doorway,  and,  shading  his  eyes  from  the 
sunlight,  looked  keenly  along  the  dark  shadow  of 
the  woods.  No  wolf  or  fox  could  have  keener 
instinct  than  had  this  man.  A  sound  of  breaking 
brush,  but  so  slight  that  it  probably  would  have 
passed  unheeded  by  any  other,  had  told  him  that 
some  one  approached  through  these  woods. 

He  waited. 

Suddenly  there  was  movement  in  the  shadow. 
The  next  moment  a  figure  stepped  out  into  the  open. 
A  figure,  dressed  in  beaded  buckskin  and  blanket 
clothing.  It  was  Davia. 

She  came  in  haste,  yet  wearily.  She  looked  slight 
and  drooping  in  her  mannish  garments,  while  the 
pallor  of  her  drawn  face  was  intense.  She  came 
up  to  where  Jean  stood  and  would  have  fallen  but 
for  his  support.  Her  journey  had  been  rapid  and 
long,  and  she  was  utterly  weary  of  body. 

"  Quick,  let's  git  inside,"  she  cried,  in  a  choking 
voice.  Then  she  added  hysterically :  "  He's  on  the 
trail." 

Without  a  word  Jean  led  her  into  the  house, 
and  she  flung  herself  into  a  seat.  A  little  whiskey 
put  new  life  into  her  and  the  colour  came  back  to 


2l8  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

her  face.  She  was  strong,  a  woman  bred  to  hard- 
ship and  toil. 

Jean  waited;  then  he  put  a  question  with  char- 
acteristic abruptness. 

"Who's  on  the  trail?" 

"  Who?  Nick  Westley.  He's  comin'  for  blood! 
Victor's  blood !  "  Then  Davia  sprang  to  her  feet 
with  a  look  of  wild  alarm  upon  her  beautiful  face. 
"He's  killed  his  brother!"  she  added.  "He's 
mad  —  ravin'  mad." 

The  man  did  not  move  a  muscle.  Only  his  eyes 
darkened  as  he  heard  the  announcement. 

"  Mad,"  he  said,  thoughtfully.  "  An'  he's  comin' 
fer  Victor.  Wai?" 

Davia  sat  up.  Her  brother's  calmness  had  a 
soothing  effect  upon  her. 

"  Listen,  an'  I'll  tell  you." 

And  she  told  the  story  of  the  mountain  tragedy, 
and  the  manner  in  which  she  watched  the  madman's 
subsequent  actions  until  he  set  out  for  the  store. 
And  the  story  lost  none  of  its  intense  horror  in  her 
telling. 

Jean  listened  unemotionally  and  with  a  judicial 
air.  Only  his  eyes  showed  that  he  was  in  any  way 
moved. 

When  she  had  finished  he  asked  her,  "  An 
when'll  he  git  here?" 


OUT  ON  THE  NORTHLAND    TRAIL 

"  Can't  say,"  came  the  swift  reply.  "  Maybe 
to-night;  maybe  in  an  hour;  maybe  right  now. 
He's  big  an'  strong,  an'  —  an'  he's  mad,  I  know 
it."  And  a  shudder  of  apprehension  passed  over 
her  frame. 

"  Fer  Victor?  Sure?"  Jean  asked  again  pres- 
ently, like  a  man  weighing  up  a  difficult  problem. 

"  Sure.  He  don't  know  you,  nor  me,  at  this 
layout.  Ther's  only  Victor.  I  guess  I  don't  know 
how  he  figgered  it,  he's  that  crazy,  but  it's  Victor 
he's  layin'  fer,  sure.  Say,  I  saw  him  sling  his  gun 
an'  his  '  six/  An'  his  belt  was  heavy  with  ammu- 
nition. I  reckon  ther's  jest  one  thing  fer  us  to  do 
when  a  crazy  man  gits  around  with  a  gun.  It's 
time  to  light  out.  Wher's  Victor?  "  And  her  eyes 
fell  upon  the  treasure-chest. 

"  Him  an'  me's  changed  places.  He's  back  ther'." 
Jean  jerked  a  thumb  over  his  shoulder  to  indicate 
the  huts  in  the  wood. 

Davia  was  on  her  feet  in  an  instant  and  her  eyes 
sparkled  angrily. 

"What  d'ye  mean,  Jean?" 

The  man  shrugged.  But  his  words  came  full  of 
anger. 

"  He  didn't  mean  marryin'  ye." 

"  Well?  "    The  blue  eyes  fairly  blazed. 


220  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

"  The  boodle,"  with  a  glance  in  the  direction  of 
the  treasure.  "  He  was  fer  jumpin'  the  lot." 

"Hah!     An'—?" 

And  Jean  told  his  story.  And  after  that  a  silence 
fell. 

"It's  cursed  —  it's  blood-money!  "  Davia's  voice 
was  hoarse  with  emotion  as  she  said  the  words. 

Jean  started. 

"  We're  goin'  to  git,"  he  said  slowly.  And  he 
looked  into  the  woman's  eyes  as  though  he  would 
read  her  very  soul. 

"An'  Victor?"  said  Davia  harshly. 

"  Come,  we'll  go  to  him." 

At  the  door  Davia  was  seized  with  an  overwhelm- 
ing terror.  She  gripped  Jean's  arm  forcefully  while 
she  peered  along  the  woodland  fringe.  The  man 
listened. 

"  Let's  git  on  quick,"  Davia  whispered.  And 
her  mouth  was  dry  with  her  terror. 

They  found  Victor  as  Jean  had  left  him.  The 
prisoner  looked  up  when  the  door  opened.  His 
eyes  brightened  at  the  sight  of  the  woman. 

No  word  was  spoken  for  some  moments.  In 
that  silence  a  drama  was  swiftly  working  itself 
out.  Victor  was  calculating  his  chances.  Davia 
was  thinking  in  a  loving  woman's  unreasoning 
fashion.  And  Jean  was  watching  both.  At  last 


OUT  ON  THE  NORTHLAND    TRAIL  221 

the  giant  stooped  and  removed  the  gag  from  his 
captive's  mouth.  The  questioning  eyes  of  Victor 
Gagnon  looked  from  one  to  the  other  and  finally 
rested  upon  Davia. 

"Wai?"  he  said. 

And  Davia  turned  to  Jean. 

"  Loose  him !  "  she  said  imperiously. 

And  Jean  knew  that  trouble  had  come  for  his 
plans.  He  shook  his  head.  The  glance  of  Victor's 
eyes  as  they  turned  upon  Jean  was  like  the  edge 
of  a  super-sharpened  knife.  The  trader  knew  that 
a  crisis  had  arrived.  Which  was  the  stronger  of 
these  two,  the  brother  or  the  sister?  He  waited. 

"What  are  you  goin'  to  do  with' him?"  Davia 
asked. 

She  could  scarcely  withhold  the  anger  which  had 
risen  within  her. 

But  Jean  did  not  answer;  he  was  listening  to 
a  strange  sound  which  came  to  him  through  the 
open  door.  Suddenly  he  stooped  again  and  began 
to  readjust  the  rope  that  held  his  prisoner.  He 
secured  hands  and  feet  together  in  a  manner  from 
which  Victor  was  not  likely  to  free  himself  easily; 
and  yet  from  which  it  was  possible  for  him  to  get 
loose.  Davia  followed  his  movements  keenly.  At 
last  the  giant  rose;  his  task  was  completed. 


222  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

"  Now/*  he  said,  addressing  them  both.  "  Say 
your  says  —  quick." 

"  You  ain't  leavin'  him  here,"  said  the  woman, 
looking  squarely  into  her  brother's  eyes. 

"  That's  so." 

A  strange  light  leapt  into  Davia's  eyes.  Jean 
saw  it  and  wfent  on  with  a  frown. 

"  I'm  easy,  dead  easy ;  but  I  guess  I've  had 
enough.  He'll  shift  fer  himself.  If  he'd  'a'  acted 
straight  ther'd  'a'  been  no  call  fer  me  to  step  in. 
He  didn't.  He  ain't  settin'  you  right,  Davi';  he 
can't  even  act  the  thief  decent.  He'd  'a'  robbed 
you  an'  me,  an'  left  you  what  you  are.  Wai,  my 
way  goes." 

Then  he  turned  to  Victor  and  briefly  told  him 
Davia's  story  of  the  mountain  tragedy.  As  he 
came  to  the  climax  the  last  vestige  of  the  trader's 
insolence  vanished.  Nick  was  on  his  way  to  the 
store  armed  and  —  mad.  Panic  seized  upon  the 
listener.  His  bravado  had  ever  been  but  the  veneer 
of  the  surface.  His  condition  returned  to  the  sub- 
versive terror  which  had  assailed  him  when  he 
was  caught  in  the  mountain  blizzard. 

"  Now,  see  you  here,  Victor,"  Jean  concluded 
coldly,  yet  watching  the  effect  he  had  produced. 
"  Ye  owe  us  a  deal  more'n  ye  ken  pay  easy,  but 
I'm  fixin'  the  reckonin'  my  way.  We're  goin',  an* 


OUT  ON  THE  NORTHLAND    TRAIL          22$ 

the  boodle  goes  wi'  us.  Savvee  ?  "  Davia  watched 
her  brother  acutely.  Nor  could  she  help  noticing 
that  the  great  man  was  listening  while  he  spoke. 
"  I  'lows  you'll  git  free  o'  this  rope.  I  mean  ye 
to  —  after  a  whiles.  Ye' 11  keep  y'r  monkey  tricks 
till  after  we're  clear  o'  here.  Then  ye'll  do  best 
to  go  dead  easy.  Fer  that  crank's  comin'  right 
along,  an',  I  'lows,  if  I  was  you  I'd  as  lief  lie  here 
and  rot,  an'  feed  the  gophers  wi'  my  carcass  as 
run  up  agin  him.  I  tell  ye,  pard,  ther's  a  cuss 
hangin'  around  wher'  Nick  Westley  goes,  an'  I 
don't  reckon  it's  like  to  work  itself  out  easy  by  a 
big  sight."  ( 

Jean  finished  up  with  profound  emphasis.  Then 
he  turned  about  and  faced  his  sister. 

"  Now,  gal,  we're  goin'." 

"  Not  while  Victor's  left  here." 

Jean  stood  quite  still  for  a  moment.  Then  his 
rage  suddenly  broke  forth. 

"Not  while  that  skunk's  left?"  he  cried,  point- 
ing scornfully  at  the  prostrate  man.  "  Ye'd  stop 
here  fer  him  as  has  shamed  ye;  hjm  as  'ud  run 
from  ye  this  minit  if  he  had  the  chance;  him  as 
'ud  rob  ye  too;  him  as  thinks  as  much  to  ye  as  a 
coyote.  Slut  y'  are,  but  y'  are  my  sister,  an'  I  say 
ye  shall  go  wi'  me." 

He  made  a  step  towards  her.    Then  he  brought 


224  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

up  to  a  halt  as  the  long  blade  of  a  knife  gleamed 
before  his  eyes.  But  he  only  hesitated  a  second. 
His  great  hand  went  out,  and  he  caught  the 
woman's  wrist  as  she  was  about  to  strike.  The 
next  instant  he  had  wrenched  the  weapon  from 
her  grasp  and  held  her. 

Now  he  thrust  her  out  of  the  hut  and  secured  the 
door.  He  believed  that  what  he  had  done  was 
only  right. 

As  they  passed  out  into  the  bright  spring  day- 
light again  a  change  seemed  to  come  over  Davia. 
Her  terror  of  Nick  Westley  returned  as  she  noted 
the  alert  attitude  of  her  brother.  She  listened  too, 
and  held  her  breath  to  intensify  her  hearing.  But 
Jean  did  not  relax  his  hold  upon  her  till  they  were 
once  more  within  the  store.  Then  he  set  her  to 
assist  in  the  preparations  for  their  flight.  When 
all  was  ready,  and  they  stood  outside  the  house 
while  Jean  secured  the  door,  Davia  made  a  final 
appeal. 

"  Let  me  stop,  Jean,"  she  cried,  while  a  sob  broke 
from  her.  "  I  love  him.  He's  mine." 

"  God's  curse  on  ye,  no ! "  came  the  swift  re- 
sponse, and  the  man's  eyes  blazed. 

Suddenly  a  long-drawn  cry  rose  upon  the  air. 
It  reached  a  great  pitch  and  died  lingeringly  away. 
It  was  near  by  and  told  its  tale.  And  the  woman 


OUT  ON  THE  NORTHLAND    TRAIL          22$ 

shuddered  involuntarily.  It  was  the  wolf  cry  of 
the  mountains;  the  cry  of  the  human.  And,  as 
if  in  answer,  came  a  chorus  from  wolfish  throats. 
The  last  moment  had  come. 

Davia  caught  Jean's  arm  as  though  seeking  pro- 
tection. 

"  I  will  go/'  she  cried,  and  the  man  took  her 
answer  to  be  a  final  submission. 

The  stillness  of  the  day  had  passed.  Life  thrilled 
the  air  although  no  life  was  visible.  Davia's  fear 
was  written  in  her  face,  Jean's  expression  was  in- 
scrutable; only  was  it  sure  that  he  listened. 

But  Jean  was  not  without  the  superstitious  dread 
which  madness  inspires.  And  as  they  raced,  he 
bearing  the  burden  of  the  treasure-chest,  for  the 
wood-covered  banks  of  the  creek,  he  was  stirred 
to  horror  by  the  familiar  sounds  that  pursued  him. 
It  was  their  coming,  at  that  time,  in  daylight;  and 
in  answer  to  the  human  cry  that  had  first  broken 
up  the  silence  of  the  hills.  How  came  it  that  the 
legions  of  the  forest  Were  marching  in  the  wake 
of  that  other  upon  the  valley  of  Little  Choyeuse 
Creek? 

Jean  halted  when  they  stood  upon  the  rotten  ice 
of  the  creek.  Now  he  released  his  sister,  and  they 
stood  facing  each  other  well  screened  from  view 
from  the  store. 


226  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

The  sullen  peace  of  the  valley  had  merged  into 
the  deep-toned,  continuous  howl  of  hoarse  throats. 
A  terrible  threat  was  in  the  sound.  Jean  unslung 
his  rifle  and  looked  to  his  pistol. 

"  Ther's  six  in  this  gun,"  he  said  deliberately. 
"  Five  of  'em  is  fer  them  beasties,  if  ne'sary.  The 
other's  fer  you  if  you  git  playin'  tricks.  Mebbe 
ye'll  thank  me  later  fer  what  I'm  doin'.  It  don't 
cut  no  figger  anyway." 

Then  he  prodded  the  ice  with  his  iron-shod  staff. 

Davia  watched  him  while  she  listened  to  the  din 
of  the  forest  world.  At  length  the  staff  had  beaten 
its  way  to  the  water  below. 

"  What  are  ye  doin'?  "  she  asked,  quite  suddenly. 

And  Jean's  retort  was  a  repetition  of  her  own 
words. 

"  It's  cursed  —  it's  blood-money !  " 

She  took  his  meaning,  and  her  cupidity  cried  out 
in  revolt.  But  her  protest  was  useless. 

"  You're  not  goin'  —  "  she  began. 

"  It  goes,"  cried  Jean  fiercely,  "  wher'  he  ain't 
like  to  touch  it,  'less  Hell  gits  him.  Father  Lefleur, 
at  the  mission,  says  as  gold's  Hell's  pavin',  an' 
mebbe  this'll  git  back  wher*  it  come."  And  with 
vengeful  force  he  threw  back  the  lid  of  the  chest. 

Davia's  eyes  expressed  more  than  any  words 
could  have  told.  She  stood  silently  by,  a  mute  but 


OUT  ON  THE   NORTHLAND    TRAIL  22J 

eloquent  protest,  while  Jean  took  the  bags  of  gold 
dust  one  by  one  from  the  chest,  and  poured  their 
contents  into  the  water  below.  When  the  last  bag 
was  emptied  he  took  the  packet  of  bills  and  fin- 
gered them  gently.  Even  his  purpose  seemed  to  be 
shaken  by  the  seductive  feel  of  the  familiar  paper. 
Suddenly  he  thrust  them  into  the  hole,  and  his 
staff  thrust  viciously  at  them  as  he  pushed  them 
under  the  ice  where  they  would  quickly  rot.  It 
was  done. 

"Mebbe  the  water'll  wash  the  blood  off'n  it," 
he  exclaimed.  "  Mebbe." 

Davia's  eyes  looked  derisively  upon  the  giant 
figure  as  he  straightened  himself  up.  She  could 
not  understand. 

But  her  look  changed  to  one  of  horror  a  moment 
later,  as  above  the  cries  of  the  forest  rose  the  in- 
human note  of  the  madman.  Both  recognized  it, 
and  the  dreadful  tone  gripped  their  hearts,  Jean 
leant  forward,  and  seizing  the  woman  by  the  arm 
dragged  her  off  the  ice  to  the  cover  of  the  bush. 

With  hurried  strides  they  made  their  wtay  through 
the  leafless  branches,  until  they  stood  where,  them- 
selves well  under  cover,  they  had  a  view  of  the 
store. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

WHO    SHALL   FATHOM    THE    DEPTHS    OF   A 
WOMAN'S  LOVE? 

THE  dull  woods  look  black  in  the  bright  sunlight ; 
and  beyond,  and  above,  the  crystal  of  the  eternal 
snow  gleams  with  appalling  whiteness.  No  touch 
of  spring  can  grey  those  barren,  everlasting  fields, 
where  foot  of  man  has  never  trod,  and  no  warmth 
can  penetrate  to  the  rock-bound  earth  beneath. 

All  the  world  seems  to  be  reaching  to  the  sky 
vault  above.  Everything  is  vast;  only  is  the  work 
of  human  hands  puny. 

Thus  the  old  log  storehouse  of  Victor  Gagnon, 
now  shut  up  like  a  deserted  fort  of  older  days,  with- 
out its  stockade,  is  less  than  a  terrier's  kennel  set  at 
the  door  of  a  giant's  castle.  And  yet  it  breaks  up  the 
solitude  so  that  something  of  the  savage  magnifi- 
cence is  gone.  The  forest  cries  echo  and  reecho, 
and,  to  human  ears,  the  savage  din  is  full  of  porten- 
tous meaning,  but  it  is  lost  beyond  the  confines  of  the 


THE  DEPTHS  OF  A    WOMAN'S  LOVE        22$ 

valley;  and  the  silent  guardians  of  the  peaks  above 
sleep  on  undisturbed. 

A  mighty  flock  of  water-fowl  speeding  their  way, 
droop  downwards,  with  craning  necks,  at  the  unusual 
sounds,  to  watch  the  stealing  creatures  moving  at 
the  edge  of  the  woods.  The  fox,  hungering  as  he 
always  hungers,  foremost,  lest  other  scavengers, 
like  himself,  shall  steal  the  prize  he  seeks;  a  troupe 
of  broad-antlered  deer  racing  headlong  down  the 
valley;  shaggy  wolves,  grey  or  red,  lurking  within 
the  shadow,  as  though  fearing  the  open  daylight, 
or  perhaps  him  whose  voice  has  summoned  them; 
these  things  they  see,  but  their  meaning  is  lost  to  the 
feathered  wanderers,  as  they  wing  their  way  on- 
ward. 

The  cry  of  the  human  floats  over  the  tree-tops 
and  beats  itself  out  upon  the  solemn  hillsides.  It 
has  in  it  a  deep-toned  note  of  invitation  to  the  fierce 
denizens  of  the  forest.  A  note  which  they  cannot 
resist;  and  they  answer  it,  and  come  from  hill  and 
valley,  gathering,  gathering,  with  hungry  bellies 
and  frothing  jowls. 

Driving  his  way  through  close-growing  bush 
comes  the  unkempt  figure  of  a  man.  A  familiar 
figure,  but  so  changed  as  to  be  hardly  recognizable. 
His  clothes  are  rent  and  scored  by  the  horny 
branches.  His  feet  crush  noisily  over  the  pine-cones 


230  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

in  moccasins  that  have  rotted  from  his  feet  with  the 
journey  over  melting  snow  and  sodden  vegetation. 
There  is  a  quivering  fire  burning  in  his  eyes,  an 
uncertain  light,  like  the  sun's  reflections  upon  rip- 
pling water.  He  looks  neither  this  way  nor  that, 
yet  his  eyes  seem  to  be  flashing  in  all  directions  at 
once.  The  bloody  scar  upon  his  cheek  is  dreadful 
to  look  upon,  for  it  has  scarce  begun  to  heal,  and 
the  cold  has  got  into  it.  He  is  armed,  as  Davia  had 
said,  this  strange  horrific  figure,  and  at  intervals 
his  head  is  thrown  back  to  give  tongue  to  his  wolf- 
ish cry.  It  almost  seems  as  if  the  Spirit  of  the 
Forest  has  claimed  him. 

He  journeys  on  through  the  twilit  gloom.  The 
horror  of  the  life  gathered  about  him  is  no  more 
grim  than  is  the  condition  of  his  witless  brain. 
Over  hills  and  through  brakes ;  in  valleys  and  along 
winding  tracks  made  by  the  forest  lords ;  now  push- 
ing his  way  through  close-growing  scrub,  now  pass- 
ing like  a  fierce  shadow  among  the  bare,  primeval 
tree-trunks,  he  moves  forward.  His  goal  is  ahead, 
and  one  instinct,  one  desire,  urges  him  onward. 
He  knows  nought  of  his  surroundings,  he  sees 
nought.  His  chaotic  brain  is  aware  only  of  its  mad 
purpose. 

Suddenly  the  bush  parts.  There  stands  the  store 
of  Victor  Gagnon  in  the  bright  light  of  day.  Swift 


THE  DEPTHS  OF  A    WOMAN^S  LOVE 

to  the  door  he  speeds,  but  pauses  as  he  finds  it 
locked.  The  pause  is  brief.  A  shot  from  his  pis- 
tol shatters  the  lock,  the  door  flies  open  at  his 
touch,  and  he  passes  within.  Then  follows  a  cry 
that  has  in  it  the  tone  of  a  baffled  creature  robbed 
of  its  prey ;  it  is  like  the  night  cry  of  the  puma  that 
shrinks  at  the  blaze  of  the  camp-fire;  it  is  fierce, 
terrible.  The  house  is  empty. 

But  the  cunning  of  the  madman  does  not  desert 
him.  He  sets  out  to  search,  peering  here,  there,  and 
everywhere.  As  the  moments  pass,  and  no  living 
thing  is  to  be  seen  within,  his  anger  rises  like  a 
fierce  summer  storm.  He  stands  in  the  centre  of 
the  store  which  is  filled  with  a  disordered  array  of 
stuffs.  His  eyes  light  upon  the  wooden  trap  which 
opens  upon  the  cellar  where  Victor  stores  his  skins. 
Once  more  the  fire  flares  up  in  his  dreadful  eyes. 
An  oil-lamp  is  upon  a  shelf.  He  dashes  towards  it, 
and  soon  its  dull,  yellow  flame  sheds  its  feeble  rays 
about.  He  stoops  and  prises  up  the  heavy  square 
of  wood.  Below  sees  the  top  rungs  of  a  rough 
ladder.  His  poor  brain  is  incapable  of  argument 
and  with  a  fierce  joy  he  clambers  down  into  the 
dank,  earthy  atmosphere  of  the  cellar. 

All  is  silent  again  except  for  the  shuffling  of  his 
almost  bare  feet  upon  the  uneven  ladder.  The  last 


232  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

rung  is  gone,  and  he  drops  heavily  to  the  ground. 
Then,  for  awhile,  silence  reigns. 

During  that  silence  there  comes  a  figure  stealing 
round  the  angle  at  the  back  of  the  building.  It  is 
a  slight,  dark  figure,  and  it  moves  with  extreme 
caution.  There  is  a  look  on  the  narrow  face  which 
is  one  of  superstitious  horror.  It  is  Victor  Ga- 
gnon  escaped  from  his  prison,  and  he  advances  halt- 
ingly, for  he  has  seen  the  approach  of  his  uncanny 
visitor,  and  he  knows  not  what  to  do.  His  inclina- 
tion is  to  flee,  yet  is  he  held  fascinated.  He  ad- 
vances no  further  than  the  front  angle  of  the 
building,  where  he  stands  shaking  with  nervous 
apprehension. 

Suddenly  he  hears  a  cry  that  is  half-stifled  by 
distance,  for  it  comes  from  the  depths  of  the  cellar 
within.  Then  follows  a  metallic  clatter  of  something 
falling,  which,  in  turn,  is  followed  again  by  a  cry 
that  is  betwixt  a  fierce  exclamation  of  joy  and  a 
harsh  laugh.  A  foreboding  wrings  the  heart  of  the 
half-breed  trader. 

Now  he  listens  with  every  sense  aiding  him,  and 
a  strange  sound  comes  to  his  ears.  It  is  a  sound 
like  the  rushing  of  water  or  the  sighing  of  the  wind 
through  the  skeleton  branches  of  forest-trees.  It 
grows  louder,  and,  in  its  midst,  he  hears  the  stum- 
bling of  feet  within  the  house.  Something,  he  knows 


THE  DEPTHS  OF  A    WOMAN'S  LOVE        233 

not  what,  makes  him  look  about  him  fearfully,  but 
he  remains  at  his  post.  He  dare  not  move. 

At  last  he  thrusts  his  head  forward  and  peers 
round  the  corner  so  that  he  has  a  full  view  of  the 
door.  Then  he  learns  the  meaning  of  the  sound 
he  has  heard.  Great  clouds  of  smoke  are  belching 
through  the  opening,  and  are  rolling  heavily  away 
upon  the  chill,  scented  air.  His  jaws  come  together, 
his  breath  catches,  and  a  look  that  is  the  expression 
of  a  mind  distracted  leaps  into  his  eyes.  He  knows 
that  his  store  is  on  fire.  He  does  not  leave  his 
lurking-place,  for  he  knows  that  there  is  no  means 
of  staying  the  devouring  flames.  Besides,  the  man 
must  still  be  within.  Yes,  he  is  certainly  still*  within 
the  building,  for  he  can  hear  him. 

The  cries  of  the  wild  come  up  from  the  forest 
but  Victor  no  longer  heeds  them.  The  hiss  and 
crackle  of  the  burning  house  permeate  his  brain. 
His  eyes  watch  the  smoke  with  a  dreadful  fascina- 
tion. He  cannot  think,  he  can  only  watch,  and  he  is 
gripped  by  a  more  overwhelming  terror  than  ever. 

Suddenly  a  fringe  of  flame  pursues  the  smoke 
from  the  door.  It  leaps,  and  rushes  up  the  wood- 
work of  the  thatch  above  and  shoots  along  to  the 
pitch  of  the  roof.  The  rapidity  of  the  mighty 
tongues  is  appalling.  Still  the  man  is  within  the 


234  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

building,  for  Victor  can  hear  his  voice  as  he  talks 
and  laughs  at  the  result  of  his  handiwork. 

The  madman's  voice  rises  high  above  the  roar  of 
the  flames.  The  fire  seems  to  have  driven  him  to 
the  wildest  pitch  of  insensate  excitement,  and  Victor 
begins  to  wonder  what  the  end  will  be. 

A  moment  later  he  hears  distant  words  come 
from  the  burning  house.  They  come  in  a  shout 
that  is  like  the  roar  of  some  wild  beast,  and  they 
sound  high  above  every  other  sound.  There  is 
in  them  the  passionate  ring  of  one  who  abandons 
all  to  one  overpowering  desire. 

"Aim-sa!     Aim-sa!     Wait,  I'm  comin'." 

There  is  an  instant's  silence  which  the  sound 
of  the  hungry  flames  devours.  Then,  through  the 
blazing  doorway,  the  great  form  of  Nick  Westley 
rushes  headlong,  shouting  as  he  comes. 

"Aim-sa!    Aim-sa!" 

The  cry  echoes  and  reechoes,  giving  fresh  spirit 
to  the  baying  of  the  wolves  that  wait  in  the  cover 
of  the  woodland.  On  rushes  the  man  heedless  of 
the  excoriating  roughnesses  of  the  ground  beneath 
his  bare  and  battered  feet.  He  gazes  with  staring 
eyes  upon  the  woods  as  though  he  sees  the  vision  of 
the  woman  that  has  inspired  his  cry.  On,  he  speeds 
towards  the  beasts  whose  chorus  welcomes  him; 


THE  DEPTHS  OF  A    WOMAN'S  LOVE        235 

on,  to  the  dark  woods  in  which  he  plunges  from 
view. 

Jean  Leblaude,  standing  within  cover  of  the 
woods  which  lined  the  creek,  was  lost  to  all  sight 
and  sound  other  than  the  strange  scene  enacted  at 
the  store.  Once  or  twice  he  had  spoken,  but  it  was 
more  to  himself  than  to  Davia,  for  he  was  en- 
grossed by  what  he  beheld. 

But  now,  as  he  saw  the  man  rush  with  frantic 
haste  and  disappear  within  the  woods,  he  thought 
of  the  wealth  of  skins  within  the  burning  house. 
He  was  a  trapper,  and,  to  his  thinking,  the  loss  was 
irreparable.  He  loved  the  rich  furs  of  the  North 
as  any  woman  loves  her  household  gods.  As  for  the 
store,  that  was  little  to  him  except  that  Victor  was 
now  punished  even  beyond  his,  Jean's,  hopes.  He 
knew  that  the  trader  was  ruined.  For  the  rest  it 
would  be  as  it  always  was  in  the  wild.  The  valley 
would  simply  go  back  to  its  primordial  condition. 

But  he  watched  Victor  curiously.  He  saw  him 
stand  out  before  the  wreck  of  his  store,  and  a  world 
of  despair  and  dejection  was  in  his  attitude.  A 
mighty  bitterness  was  in  the  great  Jean's  heart  for 
the  man  he  gazed  upon,  and  a  sense  of  triumphant 
joy  flashed  through  him  at  the  sight. 

"  See,"  he  said,  without  turning  from  his  contem- 


236  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

plation,  and  pointing  with  one  arm  outstretched. 
"  He's  paid,  an'  paid  bad.  The  teachings  come  to 
him.  Maybe  he's  learned." 

There  was  no  reply,  and  he  went  on. 

"  Maybe  he's  wishin'  he'd  treated  you  right,  Davi'. 
Maybe  he'd  gi'  something  to  marry  you  now. 
Maybe.  Wai,  he's  had  his  chance  an'  throw'd  it." 
There  was  an  impressive  pause.  Presently  Jean 
spoke  again.  "  Guess  we'll  be  gittin'  on  soon.  The 
mission's  a  good  place  fer  wimmin  as  hasn't  done 
well  in  the  world,  I  reckon.  An'  the  Peace  River's 
nigh  to  a  garden.  I  'lows  Father  Lefleur's  a 
straight  man,  an'll  set  you  on  the  right  trail,  Davi'. 
Yes,  I  guess  we'll  be  gettin'  on." 

Still  there  was  no  answer. 

Suddenly  the  giant  swung  round  and  looked  at 
the  spot  where  Davia  had  been  standing.  She  had 
vanished. 

And  Jean,  solemn-eyed  as  any  moose,  stared 
stupidly  at  the  place  where  her  feet  had  rested.  He 
stood  long  without  moving,  and  slowly  thought 
straightened  itself  out  in  his  uncouth  brain.  He 
began  to  understand.  The  complexity  of  a  woman's 
character  had  been  an  unknown  quantity  to  him. 
But  he  was  no  further  from  understanding  them 
than  any  other  man.  Now  an  inner  consciousness 
told  him  that  the  punishment  of  Victor  had  been  the 


THE  DEPTHS  OF   A    WOMAN'S  LOVE        2.37 

undoing  of  his  schemes.  Davia  had  seen  the  trader 
bereft  of  all,  homeless,  penniless ;  and  she  had  gone 
to  him. 

He  turned  back  at  last  and  looked  towards  the 
store ;  it  was  almost  burnt  out  now.  But  he  heeded 
it  not,  for  he  saw  two  figures  in  deep  converse,  close 
by,  in  the  open,  and  one  of  them  was  a  woman. 
As  he  watched  he  saw  Davia  pass  a  large  pistol  to 
the  man;  and  then  he  knew  that  her  love  for  her 
faithless  lover  was  greater  than  any  other  passion 
that  moved  her.  He  knew  that  that  weapon  had 
been  given  for  defence  against  himself. 

That  evening  the  setting  sun  shone  down  upon  a 
solitary  camp-fire  on  the  Northland  trail,  and  be- 
side it  sat  a  large  man  crouching  for  warmth.  He 
was  smoking;  and  as  he  smoked  he  thought  much. 
All  the  days  he  had  lived  he  had  never  known  a 
woman's  love.  He  muttered  as  he  kicked  the  sticks 
of  his  fire  together,  and  spat  into  the  blaze  as  it 
leapt  up. 

"  Maybe  it's  a  fine  thing.  Maybe  they're  queer 
critturs.  Mostly  saft  an'  gentle  an'  —  um  —  I 
wonder  —  " 

The  sun  sank  abruptly,  and  the  brief  twilight  gave 
place  to  a  night  that  was  little  less  than  day.  The 
northern  lights  danced  their  mystic  measure  in  the 
starlit  vault  to  the  piping  of  the  Spirit  of  the  North. 


238  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

The  hush  of  the  Silent  Land  was  only  broken  by 
the  cries  which  came  up  from  the  dark  valleys  and 
darker  forests.  And  the  lonely  giant,  Jean  Le- 
blaude,  slept  the  light  slumber  of  the  journeyer  in 
the  wild;  the  slumber  that  sees  and  hears  when 
danger  is  abroad,  and  yet  rests  the  body.  He 
dreamed  not,  though  all  his  schemes  had  gone  awry, 
for  he  was  weary. 


CHAPTER   XV. 

THE   TRAGEDY   OF   THE    WILD 

/ 

"  AIM-SA  !    Aim-sa !    I  come !  " 

The  cry  rings  against  the  mountainsides,  shud- 
dering and  failing;  then  it  is  lost  in  the  vastness, 
like  the  sound  of  a  pebble  pitched  into  rushing 
waters.  The  woodland  chorus  takes  it  up  in  its 
own  wolfish  tongue,  and  it  plunges  forth  again, 
magnified  by  the  din  of  a  thousand  echoes. 

High  up  to  the  lair  of  the  mountain  lion  it  rises ; 
where  the  mighty  crags,  throne-like,  o'ershadow 
the  lesser  woods;  where  the  royal  beast,  lording  it 
over  an  inferior  world,  stealthily  prowls  and  lashes 
its  angry  tail  at  the  impudence  of  such  a  disturbance 
in  its  vast  domain.  Its  basilisk  stare  looks  out  from 
its  furtive,  drooping  head,  and  its  commands  ring 
out  in  a  roar  of  magnificent  displeasure. 

Even  to  loftier  heights  still  the  cry  goes  up ;  and 
the  mighty  grey  eagle  ruffles  its  angry  feathers, 
shakes  out  its  vast  wings,  and  screams  invective  in 
answer  to  this  loud-voiced  boast  of  wingless  crea- 

239 


240  IN   THE  BROODING    WILD 

tures.  Then,  in  proud  disdain,  it  launches  itself  out 
upon  the  air,  and  with  a  mighty  swoop  downwards, 
screaming  defiance  as  its  outstretched  pinions  brush 
the  sleek  coat  of  the  mountain  lion,  it  passes  on  over 
the  creaking  tree-tops  to  learn  the  real  cause  of  the 
hubbub. 

Down  the  valley,  away  to  the  east,  the  timid  deer 
gather,  snuffing  at  the  breeze,  fearful,  protesting, 
yet  fascinated.  The  caribou  pauses  in  his  headlong 
race  to  listen ;  only,  a  moment  later,  to  speed  on  the 
faster. 

"  Aim-sa !  Aim-sa !  Wait,  I  come !  " 
The  cry  is  more  muffled.  The  dark  canopy  of 
forest  deadens  it,  till  the  sound  is  like  a  voice  crying 
out  from  the  depths  of  the  earth.  For  the  man  is 
travelling  with  the  fierce  directness  of  one  who  is 
lured  on  by  the  haunting  vision  of  that  which  is  his 
whole  desire.  The  riven  mountains  have  no  mean- 
ing for  him.  He  looks  straight  out,  nor  tree-trunk, 
nor  bush,  nor  jutting  rock  bars  his  vision;  there 
beyond,  ever  beyond,  is  that  which  alone  he  seeks. 
It  moves  as  he  moves;  beckoning,  calling,  smiling. 
But  always,  like  a  will-o'-the-wisp,  it  eludes  him, 
and  draws  forth  the  cry  from  his  throat.  The 
sweet,  mocking  face;  the  profound  blue  eyes,  spar- 
kling with  laughter  or  brooding  in  perfect  serious- 
ness; the  parted  lips  about  the  glistening  teeth  so 


THE    TRAGEDY  OF  THE   WILD  241 

luscious  in  their  suggestion ;  the  dark  flowing  hair, 
like  a  soft  curtain  of  wondrous  texture  falling  in 
delicate  folds  upon  rounded  shoulders  —  these  things 
he  sees.  Always  ahead  the  vision  speeds,  always 
beyond.  The  man's  efforts  avail  nothing. 

The  wolves  upon  his  trail  lope  slowly  over  the 
forest  bed  of  oozing  vegetation;  with  careless 
stride,  but  with  relentless  intent,  the  creatures  openly 
seek  their  prey.  For  blood  is  upon  the  air,  and  they 
come  with  the  patter  of  thousands  of  feet,  singing 
their  dolorous  chorus  with  all  the  deep  meaning  of 
the  savage  primordial  beast.  But  the  man  heeds 
them  not.  He  is  deaf  to  their  raucous  song  as  he 
is  blind  to  the  mighty  encompassing  hills.  What 
cares  he  if  the  earth  links  up  with  the  blue  heavens 
above  him?  What  cares  he  for  the  everlasting 
silence  of  those  heights,  or  the  mute  Spirits  which 
repose  upon  the  icy  beds  of  the  all-time  glaciers? 
He  is  beyond  the  knowledge  of  Storm  or  Calm.  He 
knows  nought  of  the  meaning  of  the  awesome  voice 
of  Nature.  The  vision  is  all  to  him,  and  he  gazes 
upon  it  with  hungry,  dreadful  eyes.  His  heart  is 
starving ;  his  mind  is  empty  of  all  but  the  pangs  of 
his  all-mastering  desire.  If  need  be  he  will  pursue 
to  the  ends  of  the  earth.  He  has  been  to  the  depths 
of  hell  for  her;  he  has  felt  the  withering  blast  of 


242  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

satanic  fires.  There  is  nought  for  him  but  posses- 
sion; possession  of  the  woman  he  seeks. 

To  his  distraught  fancy,  his  cries  receive  answer, 
and  he  stumbles  blindly  on.  Meanwhile  the  wolves 
draw  ever  nearer  and  nearer,  as  their  courage  rises 
in  response  to  the  voice  of  their  famished  bellies. 
So  the  strange  pursuit  goes  on,  on;  over  hills  and 
through  valleys,  now  scaling  barren,  snow-clad 
rocks,  now  clambering  drearily  down  jagged  rifts 
of  earth;  over  Nature's  untrodden  trails,  or  along 
beaten  paths  made  by  the  passage  of  forest  beasts. 
Through  clearing  and  brake,  and  over  the  rotting 
ice  which  fills  the  bed  of  the  mountain  torrent.  On, 
on  into  Nature's  dim  recesses,  where  only  the  forest 
creatures  lord  it,  and  the  feet  of  man  have  never 
been  set. 

At  length  the  forests  disappear  and  the  magnifi- 
cent heights  rear  their  snowy  crests  thousands  of 
feet  skywards.  The  valleys  are  left,  and  behind 
him  and  below  the  forests  form  but  a  dark  shadow 
of  little  meaning.  The  greatness  is  about  him ;  the 
magnitude  of  the  higher  mountain  world.  As  he 
faces  the  un  fathomed  heights  he  again  treads  the 
snow,  for  the  warm  embrace  of  Spring  has  not  yet 
enfolded  the  higher  lands,  and  the  gracious  influ- 
ence of  the  woods  is  no  longer  to  be  felt. 

He  pauses,  breathing  hard,  and  the  expression 


THE    TRAGEDY  OF  THE   WILD  243 

of  his  wounded  face  is  not  pleasant.  The  flesh  is 
blue,  and  the  eyes  are  as  fierce  as  the  crouching 
puma's.  He  looks  about  him  as  one  in  a  daze. 
The  baying  of  the  wolves  comes  up  from  below. 
They  still  dog  him,  for  the  blood  trail  holds  them 
fast.  A  ledge  stretches  away,  winding  upwards ;  a 
mass  of  tumbled  rocks  foot  one  towering,  solitary 
pine,  and  beyond  is  blank  snow. 

For  the  moment  he  is  lost,  his  vision  has  deserted 
him.  It  may  be  that  weariness  has  overcome  the 
power  of  his  illusion,  for  he  stares  vacantly  about. 
He  looks  back,  and  the  breadth  of  what  he  sees 
conveys  no  meaning.  The  woods,  with  the  sound 
of  life  coming  up  to  him  in  deadly  monotony  of 
tone;  the  hills,  beyond,  rising  till  the  sun,  like  a 
ball  of  deep  red  fire,  seems  to  rest  upon  their  now 
lurid  glacial  fields,  but  is  powerless  to  break  their 
icy  bondage;  these  things  he  sees  but  heeds  not. 
Beyond,  far  into  the  hazy  distance,  stretch  hills  in 
their  hundreds;  incalculable,  remote,  all  bearing 
the  ruddy  tint  of  sunset;  a  ghostly  array,  chaotic, 
overwhelming  to  the  brain  of  man.  But  the  scene 
has  no  significance  to  him.  His  eyes  are  the  eyes 
of  a  man  dead  to  all  but  the  illusion  of  a  disordered 
brain.  He  sees  as  one  partially  blinded  by  the  sun. 

Suddenly  he  starts.  A  sound  such  as  he  craves 
has  come  to  him  again.  He  wheels  to  the  right, 


244  /JV  THE  BROODING    WILD 

whither  the  ledge  winds  round  the  crag.  He  peers 
out;  again  he  sees,  and  with  a  cry  he  rushes  on. 
A  moving  figure  is  upon  the  road ;  a  smiling  figure, 
a  beckoning  figure. 

Up  rises  the  way,  a  toilsome  path  and  rugged; 
slippery  and  biting  to  the  unshod  feet.  He  feels  no 
pain ;  there  is  the  figure.  He  presses  on ;  and  the 
hungry  legions  move  out  from  the  forest  below  and 
follow  boldly  upon  his  trail. 

He  rounds  the  bend.  The  call  trembles  down 
the  mountainside,  and  its  music  is  strangely  sooth- 
ing and  sweet  to  his  ears.  Quite  abruptly  a  broad 
plateau  spreads  out  before  him.  It  is  edged  on  one 
side  by  a  sheer  drop  to  unimaginable  depths,  on 
the  other  the  uprising  crags  overhang  in  horrible 
menace.  The  plateau  is  strewn  with  bleaching 
bones,  and  from  beneath  the  overhanging  rocks 
comes  a  fetid  stench.  Now  the  figure  is  lost  again, 
and  the  dreadful  straining  eyes  search  vainly  for  the 
fair  face  and  beckoning  hand.  His  heart  labours 
and  great  pain  is  in  his  chest.  For  he  is  high  up 
in  the  mountain  air,  and  every  breath  is  an  effort. 

Nor  does  he  see  the  crouching  object  to  his  right, 
lying  low  to  the  ground,  with  muscles  quivering 
and  eyes  shooting  green  fire  upon  him.  There  is 
no  movement  in  the  savage  body  but  the  furious, 
noiseless  lashing  of  the  tail,  and  the  bristling  of 


THE   TRAGEDY  OF  THE   WILD  24$ 

the  hair  at  its  shoulders.  But  suddenly  a  strange 
thing  happens.  The  creature  shrinks  back,  and 
draws  slowly  away.  Its  awful  eyes  are  averted  as 
though  in  a  fear  it  is  powerless  to  contend  with. 
Its  anger  is  lost  in  an  arrant  cowardice,  and  the 
beast  slinks  within  a  low-mouthed  cavern.  What 
is  it  that  has  power  to  put  fear  into  the  heart  of 
the  monarch  of  the  mountainside,  unless  it  is  the 
madness  which  peers  out  of  the  man's  dreadful  eyes. 

And  the  man  moves  on  unconscious  of  any  lurk- 
ing danger.  As  he  passes,  the  spell  of  his  presence 
passes  also.  A  roar  comes  from  the  depths  of  the 
cavern,  and  is  answered  by  the  wolves  as  they  crowd 
up  to  the  edge  of  the  plateau.  But  though  their 
reply  is  bold  they  hesitate  to  advance  further.  For 
they  know  who  dwells  where  the  broken,  bleaching 
bones  lie,  and  fear  is  in  their  hearts.  They  snuff 
at  the  air  with  muzzles  up-thrown,  and  their  mangy 
coats  bristle  with  sullen  anger.  The  crowd  in- 
creases, the  courage  of  the  coward  begins  to  rise 
within  them.  A  fierce  argument  arises,  and  the 
debate  takes  the  form  of  a  vicious  clipping  of  huge 
fangs.  A  mighty  roar  interrupts  them,  seeming  to 
quell  their  warlike  spirit.  For  a  moment  silence 
reigns. 

Then  as  if  by  chance,  one  great  dog-wolf  is  driven 
out  upon  the  battle-ground.  He  is  a  leader,  high 


246  IN  THE  BROODING   WILD 

of  shoulder,  broad  of  chest,  with  jaws  like  the  iron 
fangs  of  a  trap,  and  limbs  that  are  so  lean  that  the 
muscles  stand  out  upon  them  like  knots  of  rope. 
And  his  action  is  a  signal  to  the  crowd  of  savage 
poltroons  behind.  With  one  accord  they  send  their 
fierce  battle-cry  out  upon  the  still  air,  and  leap,  like 
the  rush  of  an  avalanche,  to  the  lair  of  the  moun- 
tain lion.  Out  from  his  shelter  springs  the  royal 
beast,  and  close  upon  his  heels  comes  his  mate. 
Side  by  side  they  stand,  ready  for  the  battle  though 
the  odds  be  a  million  to  one  against  them. 

Their  sleek  bodies  are  a-quiver  with  rage,  their 
tails  whip  the  earth  in  their  fury,  while  their  eyes, 
like  coals  of  green  fire,  shine  with  a  malevolence 
such  as  no  words  can  describe. 

Again  the  wolves  hesitate.  Their  outstretched 
tails  droop  and  are  pressed  between  their  legs; 
their  backs  are  hunched,  and  they  turn  their  long, 
narrow  heads  from  the  green  glitter  of  the  two  pairs 
of  terrible  eyes.  But  the  pause  is  brief,  and  the 
noise  has  died  only  for  a  second.  One  wolf  moves 
a  step  forward,  hunger  overpowering  his  fears. 
As  before,  it  is  a  signal.  The  whole  pack  leap  to 
the  fray;  struggling,  howling,  fighting  as  they 
come  ripping  at  comrade  and  foe  alike.  The  battle 
is  swift ;  so  swift  that  it  is  almost  impossible  to  real- 
ize that  it  is  over.  The  pack,  leaping  and  baying, 


THE    TRAGEDY  OF  THE    WILD  247 

pass  on,  following  the  blood  trail  of  the  man,  leav- 
ing more  bones  upon  the  plateau,  more  blood  upon 
the  trodden  snow;  and  the  royal  dwellers  of  that 
little  plain  have  vanished  as  though  they  had  never 
been. 

The  path  has  taken  a  downward  slope  and  the 
man  looks  ahead  for  the  fair  face,  hungrily,  fever- 
ishly. Again  it  has  vanished.  His  heart  cries  out 
bitterly,  and  his  despairing  voice  echoes  through 
the  barren  hills. 

As  he  advances  the  path  declines  lower  and  lower, 
till  out  of  the  shadowy  depths  the  tree-tops  seem 
climbing  to  meet  him.  The  air  he  breathes  is 
denser  now,  and  respiration  is  easier.  As  the  path 
declines  its  mountainous  sides  rise  higher  and 
higher  until  overhead  only  a  narrow  streak  of  sky 
is  revealed,  like  a  soft-toned  ribbon  set  in  a  back- 
ground of  some  dun-coloured  material.  Ahead  is 
a  barrier  of  snow  and  ice,  while  below  him,  down 
in  the  depths  of  the  gorge,  the  earth  is  clear  of  the 
wintry  pall  and  frowns  up  in  gloomy  contrast. 
The  sparse  vegetation,  too,  has  changed  its  appear- 
ance. Here  towers  the  silent,  portentous  pine,  but 
of  a  type  vaster  than  can  be  seen  in  any  other 
corner  of  the  earth.  The  man  hastens  on  with  all 
the  speed  his  weary  limbs  will  permit,  stumbling 
as  he  goes,  for  the  frost  of  the  high  altitudes  has 


248  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

entered  his  bones,  and  he  cannot  now  feel  the  touch 
of  the  broken  earth.  But  his  yearning  heart  is 
ceaseless  in  its  despairing  cry.  Where  —  where  is 
She?  The  trees  come  up  higher  and  higher  and 
the  gloom  closes  in  upon  him  as  he  reaches  the 
barrier. 

Now  he  pauses  under  a  mighty  archway.  Below, 
it  is  black  with  age  and  full  of  crowding  shadows; 
the  superstructure  alone  is  hung  with  snowy  frost 
curtains,  and  these  help  to  emphasize  the  forbid- 
ding nature  of  the  dark,  narrow  under-world. 
Down,  down  he  goes,  as  though  he  were  journey- 
ing to  the  very  bowels  of  the  earth,  heedless  of  the 
place,  heedless  of  all  but  the  phantom  he  seeks. 
Again  his  surroundings  have  changed.  The  bar- 
renness is  emphasized  by  skeleton-like  trees  of  such 
size  as  no  man  has  ever  seen  before.  High  up  aloft 
there  is  foliage  upon  them,  but  so  meagre,  so  torn 
and  wasted  as  to  suggest  a  wreck  of  magnificent 
life.  These  gigantic  trunks  are  few  in  number, 
but  so  huge  that  the  greatest  elm  would  appear  a 
sapling  beside  them,  and  yet  their  wondrous  size 
would  not  be  properly  estimated.  They  are  the 
primordial  pines,  survivors  from  an  unknown  pe- 
riod. They  shelter  nothing  but  barrenness,  and 
stand  out  alone  like  solemn  sentries,  the  watchmen 
for  all  time  of  the  earth's  most  dim  and  secret 


THE    TRAGEDY  OF   THE   WILD  249 

recesses,  where  storms  cannot  reach,  and  scarcely 
the  forest  beasts  dare  penetrate. 

Again  the  poor  benighted  brain  finds  relief. 
Down  beside  these  monsters  his  eyes  are  gladdened 
once  more  with  the  fleeting  vision.  He  sees  the 
figure  moving  ahead,  but  slowly  now;  no  longer 
is  she  the  gay  laughing  creature  he  has  hitherto 
followed,  she  moves  wearily,  as  though  exhausted 
by  the  journey  she  has  taken.  His  heart  thrills 
with  hope  and  joy,  for  now  he  knows  that  he  is 
overtaking  her.  Her  face  is  hidden  from  him,  and 
even  her  fair  form  has  taken  on  something  of  the 
hue  of  her  dark  surroundings. 

"  Aim-sa!  Aim-sa!  "  he  cries  aloud.  And  again 
"Aim-sal" 

The  gorge  rings  solemnly  with  the  hoarse  echoes, 
and  the  place  is  filled  with  discordant  sounds  which 
come  back  to  his  straining  ears  mingling  with  the 
cries  of  the  wolves  that  still  follow  on  his  trail. 

The  figure  pauses,  looks  round,  then  continues 
her  slow-paced  movement;  but  she  does  not  an- 
swer. Still  he  sees  her,  she  is  there.  And  now  he 
knows  that  he  must  come  up  with  her.  He  toils  on. 

He  talks  to  himself,  muttering  as  he  goes;  and 
a  train  of  incoherent  thought  passes  through  his 
brain.  He  tells  himself  that  the  journey  is  over. 
She  has  brought  him  to  the  home  which  shall  be 


25O  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

theirs.  The  heart  of  the  wild,  where  the  mountains 
rise  sheer  to  the  sky  above;  where  no  man  comes, 
where  a  dark  peace  reigns,  and  has  ever  reigned. 
Where  snow  is  not,  and  summer  and  winter  are 
alike.  It  is  the  fitting  home  for  a  tortured  spirit. 

The  figure  no  longer  moves  now,  but  turns  and 
faces  him.  The  sweet  familiar  features  seem  to 
bend  toward  him  out  of  the  deep  shadows  and  the 
grim  surroundings.  He  shakes  back  his  shaggy 
hair;  he  holds  himself  proudly  erect  as  he  ap- 
proaches the  woman  he  loves.  He  summons  all 
his  failing  strength.  His  knees  forget  their  weari- 
ness, his  torn  feet  are  unconscious  of  their  inju- 
ries. The  haunting  cry  of  the  wolves  comes  down 
to  him  from  behind,  but  he  heeds  only  the  beckon- 
ing phantom. 

Every  trailing  stride  lessens  the  distance  between 
them. 

He  sees  her  stoop  as  though  to  adjust  her  moc- 
casin. She  moves  again,  but  she  does  not  stand 
erect.  A  half-articulate  cry  breaks  from  him.  She 
is  coming  to  him.  Now  he  sees  that  her  head  is 
bowed  as  though  in  deep  humility.  A  cry  breaks 
from  him,  then  all  is  silent.  Suddenly  she  lifts  her 
head  and  her  tall  figure  stands  erect,  gazing  upon 
him  with  sombre,  steady  eyes,  eyes  which  seem  to 
have  caught  something  of  the  dull  hue  of  that  awe- 


THE    TRAGEDY  OF  THE   WILD  251 

some  gorge.  His  heart  leaps  with  joy.  How  tall 
she  is;  what  a  superb  form.  She  moves  toward 
him,  her  body  swaying  gracefully  to  the  rhythm 
of  her  gait.  Her  arms  are  stretched  out  appeal- 
ingly;  and  he  sees  that  she  is  clad  in  the  rich  furs 
of  the  North,  clad  as  though  for  a  journey.  He 
tells  himself,  with  a  thrill  of  mad  desire,  that  she 
is  ready  for  their  journey,  the  journey  of  life  they 
will  travel  together. 

Now  the  wolf  cries  come  louder  and  more  fierce. 
If  he  is  deaf  to  them  the  woman  is  not.  Her  head 
turns  sharply  and  a  fierce  light  leaps  into  her  eyes. 
The  change  is  lost  upon  the  man.  He  stretches 
out  his  arms  and  staggers  towards  her.  They  come 
together,  and  he  feels  the  soft  touch  of  her  fur 
robes  upon  his  face  and  hands.  Her  arms  close 
about  him  and  her  warm  breath  fans  his  fevered 
cheek,  as  he  is  drawn,  willingly,  closer  and  closer 
to  her  bosom. 

But  what  is  this?  The  embrace  draws  tight, 
tighter  and  yet  tighter;  he  becomes  rigid  in  her 
arms,  he  cannot  breathe,  and  life  seems  to  be  going 
from  him.  He  feels  his  ribs  cracking  under  the 
pressure;  he  cannot  cry  out;  he  cannot  struggle. 
Now  comes  the  sound  of  something  ripping,  of 
flesh  being  torn  by  ruthless  claws.  A  quiver  of 
nerves,  a  sigh,  and  the  man  is  still. 


2  $  2  IN  THE  BROODING    WILD 

Down  the  path  of  that  woful  gorge  in  a  headlong 
rush  comes  the  wolf-pack.  A  great  figure  with 
lolling  body  looks  up.  Its  broad  head  and  short 
muzzle  are  poised  alertly.  So  it  stands,  and  under 
its  merciless  fore  paws  is  the  mangled  corpse  of 
Nick  Westley.  It  is  a  monstrous  grizzly,  mon- 
strous even  for  its  kind.  It  turns  from  its  victim 
with  shambling  but  swiftly  moving  gait,  growling 
and  snarling  with  terrible  ferocity  as  it  goes,  but 
never  hesitating.  This  shaggy  monarch  is  no  cow- 
ard, but  he  is  cunning  as  any  fox,  and,  unlike  the 
mountain  lion,  knows  the  limitation  of  his  powers. 
He  knows  that  even  his  gigantic  strength  could 
not  long  make  stand  against  the  oncoming  horde. 
What  he  leaves  behind  will  check  the  fanged  legions 
while  he  makes  good  his  escape. 

The  pack  pours  like  a  hideous  flood  over  the 
spot  where  the  last  act  of  Nick  Westley's  tragedy 
has  been  played  out.  A  brief  but  fiendish  tumult, 
and  little  remains  to  tell  of  the  sorry  drama.  The 
impassive  mountains,  unmoved  spectators,  give  no 
sign.  The  stupendous  reticence  of  the  wilderness, 
like  the  fall  of  a  mighty  curtain,  closes  over  the 
scene,  taking  the  story  into  its  inviolable  keeping. 

THE   END. 


From 

L.  C.  Page  &  Company's 
Announcement  List 
of  New  Fiction 


The  Call  of  the  South 

BY  ROBERT  LEE  DURHAM.     Cloth  decorative,  with  6  illus- 
trations by  Henry  Roth  .         .         .         .         .     $1.50 

A  very  strong  novel  dealing  with  the  race  problem  in  this 
country.  The  principal  theme  is  the  danger  to  society  from  the 
increasing  miscegenation  of  the  black  and  white  races,  and  the 
encouragement  it  receives  in  the  social  amenities  extended  to 
negroes  of  distinction  by  persons  prominent  in  politics,  philan- 
thropy and  educational  endeavor;  and  the  author,  a  Southern 
lawyer,  hopes  to  call  the  attention  of  the  whole  country  to  the 
need  of  earnest  work  toward  its  discouragement.  He  has 
written  an  absorbing  drama  of  life  which  appeals  with  apparent 
logic  and  of  which  the  inevitable  denouement  comes  as  a  final 
and  convincing  climax. 

The  author  may  be  criticized  by  those  who  prefer  not  to  face 
the  hour  "  When  Your  Fear  Cometh  As  Desolation  And  Your 
Destruction  Cometh  As  A  Whirlwind;  "  but  his  honesty  of 
purpose  in  the  frank  expression  of  a  danger  so  well  understood 
in  the  South,  which,  however,  many  in  the  North  refuse  to 
recognize,  while  others  have  overlooked  it,  will  be  upheld  by 
the  sober  second  thought  of  the  majority  of  his  readers. 


L.  C.  PAGE  &  COMPANY'S 


The  House  in  the  Water 

BY  CHARLES  G.  D.  ROBERTS,  author  of  "The  Haunters  of 
the  Silences,"  "Red  Fox,"  "The  Heart  of  the  Ancient 
Wood,"  etc.  With  cover  design,  sixteen  full-page  drawings, 
and  many  minor  decorations  by  Charles  Livingston  Bull. 
Cloth  decorative,  with  decorated  wrapper  .  .  $1.50 

Professor  Roberta's  new  book  of  nature  and  animal  life  is  one 
long  story  in  which  he  tells  of  the  life  of  that  wonderfully  acute 
and  tireless  little  worker,  the  beaver.  "  The  Boy  "  and  Jabe 
the  Woodsman  again  appear,  figuring  in  the  story  even  more 
than  they  did  in  "  Red  Fox;  "  and  the  adventures  of  the  boy 
and  the  beaver  make  most  absorbing  reading  for  young  and 
old. 

The  following  chapter  headings  for  "  The  House  in  the 
Water  "  will  give  an  idea  of  the  fascinating  reading  to  come: 

THE  SOUND  IN  THE  NIGHT     (Beavers  at  Work). 

THE  BATTLE  IN  THE  POND     (Otter  and  Beaver). 

IN  THE  UNDER-WATER  WORLD     (Home  Life  of  the  Beaver) 

NIGHT  WATCHERS    ("  The  Boy  "  and  Jabe  and  a  Lynx  See 

the  Beavers  at  Work). 
DAM  REPAIRING  AND  DAM  BUILDING    (A  "  House-raising  " 

Bee). 

THE  PE£IL  OF  THE  TRAPS    (Jabe  Shows  "  The  Boy"). 
WINTER  UNDER  WATER     (Safe  from  All  but  Man). 
THE  SAVING  OF  BOY'S  POND     ("  The  Boy  "   Captures   Two 

Outlaws). 

"  As  a  writer  about  animals,  Mr.  Roberts  occupies  an  enviable 
place.  He  is  the  most  literary,  as  well  as  the  most  imaginative 
and  vivid  of  all  the  nature  writers."  —  Brooklyn  Eagle. 

"  His  animal  stories  are  marvels  of  sympathetic  science  and 
literary  exactness."  —  New  York  World. 

"  Poet  Laureate  of  the  Animal  World,  Professor  Roberts 
displays  the  keenest  powers  of  observation  closely  interwoven 
wito  a  fine  imagin»t;vA  discretion."  —  Boston  Transcript. 


LIST  OF  NEW  FICTION  3 

Captain  Love 

THE  HISTORY  OF  A  MOST  ROMANTIC  EVENT  IN  THE  LIFE  OP 
AN  ENGLISH  GENTLEMAN  DURING  THE  REIGN  OF  His  MAJESTY 
GEORGE  THE  FIRST.  CONTAINING  INCIDENTS  OF  COURTSHIP 
AND  DANGER  AS  RELATED  IN  THE  CHRONICLES  OF  THE  PERIOD 
AND  Now  SET  DOWN  IN  PRINT 

BY  THEODORE  ROBERTS,  author  of  "  The  Red  Feathers," 
"  Brothers  of  Peril/'  etc.  Cloth  decorative,  illustrated  by 
Frank  T.  Merrill $1.50 

A  stirring  romance  with  its  scene  laid  in  the  troublous  times 
in  England  when  so  many  broken  gentlemen  foregathered  with 
the  "  Knights  of  the  Road;  "  when  a  man  might  lose  part  of 
his  purse  to  his  opponent  at  "  White's  "  over  the  dice,  and  the 
next  day  be  relieved  of  the  rest  of  his  money  on  some  lonely 
heath  at  the  point  of  a  pistol  in  the  hand  of  the  self-same  gambler. 

But,  if  the  setting  be  similar  to  other  novels  of  the  period,  the 
etory  is  not.  Mr.  Roberta's  work  is  always  original,  his  style  is 
always  graceful,  his  imagination  fine,  his  situations  refreshingly 
novel.  In  his  new  book  he  has  excelled  himself.  It  is  un- 
doubtedly the  best  thing  he  has  done. 


Bahama  Bill 

BY  T.  JENKINS  HAINS,  author  of  "  The  Black  Barque," 
"  The  Voyage  of  the  Arrow,"  etc.  Cloth  decorative,  with 
frontispiece  in  colors  by  H.  R.  Reuterdahl  .  .  $1.50 

The  scene  of  Captain  Hainc's  new  sea  etory  is  laid  in  the 
region  of  the  Florida  Keys.  His  hero,  the  giant  mate  of  the 
wrecking  sloop,  Sea-Horse,  while  not  one  to  stir  the  emotions 
of  gentle  feminine  readers,  will  arouse  interest  and  admiration 
in  men  who  appreciate  bravery  and  daring. 

His  adventures  while  plying  his  desperate  trade  are  full  of 
the  danger  that  holds  one  at  a  sharp  tension,  and  the  reader 
forgets  to  be  on  the  side  of  law  and  order  in  his  eagerness  to  see 
the  "  wrecker  "  safely  through  his  exciting  escapades. 

Captain  Hains's  descriptions  of  life  at  sea  are  vivid,  absorbingly 
frank  and  remarkably  true.  "  Bahama  Bill  "  ranks  high  as 
a  stirring,  realistic,  unspftened  and  undiluted  tale  of  the  sea, 
chock  full  of  engrossing  interest. 


L.  C.  PAGE  &  COMPANY'S 


Matthew  Porter 

BY  GAMALIEL  BRADFORD,  JR.,  author  of  "  The  Private  Tutor," 
etc.      With  a  frontispiece  in  colors  by  Griswold  Tyng     $1.50 
When  a  young  man  has  birth  and  character  and  strong  ambi- 
tion it  is  safe  to  predict  for  him  a  brilliant  career;    and,  when 
The  Girl  comes  into  his  life,  a  romance  out  of  the  oidinary. 
Such  a  man  is  Matthew  Porter,  and  the  author  has  drawn  him 
with  fine  power. 

Mr.  Bradford  has  given  us  a  charming  romance  with  an 
unusual  motive.  Effective  glimpses  of  the  social  life  of  Boston 
form  a  contrast  to  the  more  serious  purpose  of  the  story;  but, 
in  "  Matthew  Porter,"  it  is  the  conflict  of  personalities,  the 
development  of  character,  the  human  element  which  grips  the 
attention  and  compels  admiration. 

Anne  of  Qreen  Gables 

BY  L.  M.  MONTGOMERY.  Cloth  decorative,  illustrated  $1.50 
Every  one,  young  or  old,  who  reads  the  story  of  "  Anne  of 
Green  Gables,"  will  fall  in  love  with  her,  and  tell  their  friends 
of  her  irresistible  charm.  In  her  creation  of  the  young  heroine 
of  this  delightful  tale  Miss  Montgomery  will  receive  praise  for 
her  fine  sympathy  with  and  delicate  appreciation  of  sensitive 
and  imaginative  girlhood. 

The  story  would  take  rank  for  the  character  of  Anne  alone: 
but  in  the  delineation  of  the  characters  of  the  old  farmer,  ana 
his  crabbed,  dried-up  spinster  sister  who  adopt  her,  the  author 
has  shown  an  insight  and  descriptive  power  which  add  much  to 
the  fascination  of  the  book. 

Spinster  Farm 

BY  HELEN  M.  WINSLOW,  author  of  "  *4terary  Boston."    Illus- 
trated from  original  photographs      .  .    ^      .      $1.50 
Whatever  Miss  Winslow  writes  is  good,  for  she  is  in  accord 
with  the  life  worth  living.    The  Spinster,  her  niece  "  Peggy," 
the    Professor,    and    young   Robert    Graves,  —  not    forgetting 
Hiram,  the  hired  man,  —  are   the  characters  to  whom  we  are 
introduced  on  "  Spinster  Farm."     Most  of  the  incidents  and 
all  of  the  characters  are  real,  as  well  as  the  farm  and  farmhouse, 
unchanged  since  Colonial  days. 

Light-hearted  character  sketches,  and  equally  refreshing  and 
unexpected  happenings  are  woven  together  with  a  thread  of 
happy  romance  of  which  Peggy  of  course  is  the  vivacious  heroine. 
Alluring  descriptions  of  nature  and  country  life  are  given  with 
fascinating  bits  of  biography  of  the  farm  animals  and  household 


Selections  from 

L.  C.  Page  and  Company's 

List  of  Fiction 


WORKS  OF 

ROBERT  NEILSON  STEPHENS 

Each  one  vol.,  library  i2mo,  cloth  decorative    .         .         . 

The  Flight  of  Georgiana 

A  ROMANCE  OF  THE  DAYS  OF  THE  YOUNG  PRETENDER.  Illus- 
trated by  H.  C.  Edwards. 

"  A  love-story  in  the  highest  degree,  a  dashing  story,  and  a  r<»- 
markably  well  finished  piece  of  work."  —  Chicago  Record-Herald. 

The  Bright  Face  of  Danger 

Being  an  account  of  some  adventures  of  Henri  de  Launay,  son  of 

the  Sieur  de  la  Tournoire.     Illustrated  by  H.  C.  Edwards. 

"  Mr.   Stephens   has  fairly   outdone    himself.       We   thank  him 

heartily.     The   story  is   nothing  if   not   spirited  and  entertaining, 

rational  and  convincing."  —  Boston  Transcript. 

The  Mystery  of  Murray  Davenport 

(40th  thousand.) 

"This  is  easily  the  best  thing  that  Mr.  Stephens  has  yet  done. 
Those  familiar  with  his  other  novels  can  best  judge  the  measure  of 
this  praise,  which  is  generous."  —  Buffalo  News. 

Captain  Ravenshaw 

OR,  THE  MAID  OF  CHEAPSIDE.  (52d  thousand.)  A  romance 
of  Elizabethan  London.  Illustrations  by  Howard  Pyle  and  other 
artists. 

Not  since  the  absorbing  adventures  of  D'Artagnan  have  we  had 
anything  so  good  in  the  blended  vein  of  romance  and  comedy. 

The  Continental  Dragoon 

A  ROMANCE  OF  PHILIPSE  MANOR  HOUSE  IN  1778.  ($36 
thousand.)  Illustrated  by  H.  C.  Edwards. 

A  stirring  romance  of  the  Revolution:,  with  its  scene  laid  ot. 
neutral  territory 


L.  C.   PAGE   &•    COMPANY'S 


Philip  Winwood 

(7Oth  thousand.)  A  Sketch  of  the  Domestic  History  of  an 
American  Captain  in  the  War  of  Independence,  embracing  events 
that  occurred  between  and  during  the  years  1763  and  1785  in 
New  York  and  London.  Illustrated  by  E.  W.  D.  Hamilton. 

An  Enemy  to  the  King 

(7Oth  thousand.)     From  the  "  Recently  Discovered  Memoirs   of 
the  Sieur  de  la  Tournoire."     Illustrated  by  H.  De  M.  Young. 
An   historical  romance  of  the   sixteenth  century,  describing  the 

adventures  of  a  young  French  nobleman  at  the  court  of  Henry  III., 

and  on  the  field  with  Henry  IV. 

The  Road  to  Paris 

A  STORY  OF  ADVENTURE.      (35th  thousand.)     Illustrated  by 

H.  C.  Edwards. 

An  historical  romance  of  the  eighteenth  century,  being  an  account 
of  the  life  of  an  American  gentleman  adventurer  of  Jacobite  an- 
cestry. 

A  Gentleman  Player 

His  ADVENTURES  ON  A  SECRET  MISSION  FOR  QUEEN  ELIZA- 
BETH.    (48th  thousand.)     Illustrated  by  Frank  T.  Merrill. 
The  story  of  a  young  gentleman  who  joins  Shakespeare's  com- 
pany of  players,  and  becomes  a  friend  and  protege  of   the  great 
poet. 

Clementina's  Highwayman 

Cloth  decorative,  illustrated „        $1.50 

Mr.  Stephens  has  put  into  his  new  book,  "  Clementina's  Highway 
man,"  the  finest  qualities  of  plot,  construction,  and  literary  finish. 

The  story  is  laid  in  the  mid-Georgian  period.  It  is  a  dashing, 
sparkling,  vivacious  comedy,  with  a  heroine  as  lovely  and  changeable 
as  an  April  day,  and  a  hero  all  ardor  and  daring. 

The  exquisite  quality  of  Mr.  Stephens's  literary  style  clothes  the 
story  in  a  rich  but  delicate  word-fabric;  and  never  before  have  his 
setting  and  atmosphere  been  so  perfect. 


LIST  OF  FICTION 


WORKS  OF 

CHARLES  G.  D.  ROBERTS 

Haunters  of  the  Silences 

Cloth,  one  volume,  with  many  drawings  by  Charles  Livingston 
Bull,  four  of  which  are  in  full  color  ....  $2.00 

The  stories  in  Mr.  Roberts's  new  collection  are  the  strongest  and 
best  he  has  ever  written. 

He  has  largely  taken  for  his  subjects  those  animals  rarely  met 
with  in  books,  whose  lives  are  spent  "In  the  Silences,"  where  they 
are  the  supreme  rulers.  Mr.  Roberts  has  written  of  them  sympa- 
thetically, as  always,  but  with  fine  regard  for  the  scientific  truth. 

"  As  a  writer  about  animals,  Mr.  Roberts  occupies  an  enviable 
place.  He  is  the  most  literary,  as  well  as  the  most  imaginative 
and  vivid  of  all  the  nature  writers." —  Brooklyn  Eagle. 

"  His  animal  stories  are  marvels  of  sympathetic  science  and  liter- 
ary exactness." —  New  York  World. 

Red  Fox 

THE  STORY  OF  His  ADVENTUROUS  CAREER  IN  THE  RINGWAAK 
WILDS,  AND  OF  His  FINAL  TRIUMPH  OVER  THE  ENEMIES  OF 
His   KIND.      With   fifty  illustrations,   including  frontispiece  in 
color  and  cover  design  by  Charles  Livingston  Bull. 
Square  quarto,  cloth  decorative $2.00 

"  Infinitely  more  wholesome  reading  than  the  average  tale  of 
sport,  since  it  gives  a  glimpse  of  the  hunt  from  the  point  of  view  of 
the  hunted." —  Boston  Transcript. 

"True  in  substance  but  fascinating  as  fiction.  It  will  interest 
old  and  young,  city-bound  and  free-footed,  those  who  know  animals 
and  those  who  do  not."  —  Chicago  Record- Herald. 

"A  brilliant  chapter  in  natural  history."  —  Philadelphia  North 
American* 


L.  C.  PAGE  &   COMPANY'S 


The  Kindred  of  the  Wild 

A  BOOK  OF  ANIMAL  LIFE.  With  fifty-one  full-page  plates  and 
many  decorations  from  drawings  by  Charles  Livingston  Bull. 

Square  quarto,  decorative  cover $2.00 

"Is  in  many  ways  the  most  brilliant  collection  of  animal  stories 
that  has  appeared;  well  named  and  well  done." — John  Burroughs. 

The  Watchers  of  the  Trails 

A  companion  volume  to  "The  Kindred  of  the  Wild."  With 
forty-eight  full-page  plates  and  many  decorations  from  drawings 
by  Charles  Livingston  Bull. 

Square  quarto,  decorative  cover $2.00 

"  These  stories  are  exquisite  in  their  refinement,  and  yet  robust 

in  their  appreciation  of  some  of  the  rougher  phases  of  woodcraft. 

Among  the  many  writers  about  animals,  Mr.  Roberts  occupies  an 

enviable  place.  —  The  Outlook. 

"  This  is  a  book  full  of  delight.     An  additional  charm  lies  in  Mr. 

Bull's  faithful  and  graphic  illustrations,  which  in  fashion  all   their 

own  tell  the  story  of  the  wild  life,  illuminating  and  supplementing 

the  pen  pictures  of  the  author."  —  Literary  Digest. 

The  Heart  That  Knows 

Library  1 2mo,  cloth,  decorative  cover          ....    £1.50 
"A  novel  of  singularly  effective  strength,  luminous  in  literary 
color,  rich  in  its  passionate,  yet  tender  drama."  —  New  York  Globe. 

Earth's  Enigmas 

A  new  edition  of  Mr.  Roberts's  first  volume  of  fiction,  published 
in  1892,  and  out  of  print  for  several  years,  with  the  addition  of 
three  new  stories,  and  ten  illustrations  by  Charles  Livingston 
Bull. 

Library  12 mo,  cloth,  decorative  cover          .         .        .         .    $1.50 
"  It    will    rank   high    among   collections   of     short   stories.      In 
'Earth's   Enigmas'  is  a  wider  range  of   subject  than  in  the  'Kin- 
dred of  the  Wild.'" — Review  from  advance  sheets  of  the  illustrated 
edition  by  Tiffany  Blake  in  the  Chicago  Evening  Post. 

Barbara  Ladd 

With  four  illustrations  by  Frank  Verbeck. 

Library  I2mo,  cloth,  decorative  cover          ....    $1.50 

"  From  the  opening  chapter  to  the  final  page  Mr.  Roberts  lures 

us  on  by  his  rapt  devotion  to  the  changing  aspects  of  Nature  and 

by  his  keen  and  sympathetic  analysis  of  human  character." — Boston 

Transcript. 


LTST  OF  FICTION 


Cameron  of  Lochiel 

Translated  from  the  French  of  Philippe  Aubcrt  de  Gaspe",  with 

frontispiece  in  color  by  H.  C.  Edwards. 

Library  12010,  cloth  decorative $1*50 

"  Professor  Roberts  deserves  the  thanks  of  his  reader  for  giving 
a  wider  audience  an  opportunity  to  enjoy  this  striking  bit  of  French 
Canadian  literature."  —  Brooklyn  Eagle. 

"  It  is  not  often  in  these  days  of  sensational  and  philosophical 
novels  that  one  picks  up  a  book  that  so  touches  the  heart."  — 
Boston  Transcript. 

The  Prisoner  of  Mademoiselle 

"With  frontispiece  by  Frank  T.  Merrill. 

Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  gilt  top      .         .         .        .     $1.50 

A  tale  of  Acadia, — a  land  which  is  the  author's  heart's  delight, 
—  of  a  valiant  young  lieutenant  and  a  winsome  maiden,  who  first 
captures  and  then  captivates. 

"  This  is  the  kind  of  a  story  that  makes  one  grow  younger,  more 
innocent,  more  light-hearted.  Its  literary  quality  is  impeccable. 
It  is  not  every  day  that  such  a  heroine  blossoms  into  even  tempo- 
rary existence,  and  the  very  name  of  the  story  bears  a  breath  of 
charm."  —  Chicago  Record-Herald. 

The  Heart  of  the  Ancient  Wood 

With  six  illustrations  by  James  L.  Weston. 

Library  izmo,  decorative  cover $i-5<> 

"One  of  the  most  fascinating  novels  of  recent  days." — Boston 
Journal. 

"  A  classic  twentieth-century  romance."  —  New  York  Commercial 
Advertiser. 

The  Forge  in  the  Forest 

Being  the  Narrative  of  the  Acadian  Ranger,  Jean  de  Mer, 
Seigneur  de  Briart,  and  how  he  crossed  the  Black  Abbe,  and  of 
his  adventures  in  a  strange  fellowship.  Illustrated  by  Henry 
Sandham,  R.  C.  A. 

Library  izmo,  cloth,  gilt  top  .  .  >  •  «  .  fi>5<> 
A  story  of  pure  love  and  heroic  adventure. 

By  the  Marshes  of  Minas 

Library  lamo,  cloth,  gilt  top,  illustrated  .  *  •  .  £1-50 
Most  of  these  romances  are  in  the  author's  lighter  and  more 

playful  vein;   each  is  a  unit  of  absorbing  interest  and  exquisite 

workmanship. 


L.  C.  PAGE   &    COMPANVS 


A  Sister  to  Evangeline 

Being  the  Story  of  Yvonne  de  Lamourie,  and  how  she  went  into 
exile  with  the  villagers  of  Grand  Pre. 

Library  1 2mo,  cloth,   gilt  top,  illustrated     ....     $1.50 
Swift  action,  fresh  atmosphere,  wholesome  purity,  deep  passion, 
and  searching  analysis  characterize  this  strong  novel. 


WORKS  OF 

LILIAN  BELL 

Carolina  Lee 

With  a  frontispiece  in  color  from  an  oil  painting  by  Dora  Wheeler 
Keith.     Library  1 2mo,  cloth,  decorative  cover    .         .         .     $1.50 
"  A  Christian  Science  novel,  full  of  action,  alive  with  incident  and 
brisk  with  pithy  dialogue  and  humor."  —  Boston.  Transcript. 

"  A  charming  portrayal  of  the  attractive  life  of  the  South,  refresh- 
ing as  a  breeze  that  blows  through  a  pine  forest." —  Albany  Times* 
Unitn. 

Hope  Loring 

Illustrated  by  Frank  T.  Merrill. 

Library  1 2mo,  cloth,  decorative  cover  ....  $1.50 
"Tall,  slender,  and  athletic,  fragile-looking,  yet  with  nerves  and 
sinews  of  steel  under  the  velvet  flesh,  frank  as  a  boy  and  tender  and 
beautiful  as  a  woman,  free  and  independent,  yet  not  bold — such  is 
*  Hope  Loring,'  by  long  odds  the  subtlest  study  that  has  yet  been 
made  of  the  American  girl." — Dorothy  Dix>  in  the  New  York 
American. 

Abroad  with  the  Jimmies 

With  a  portrait,  in  duogravure,  of  the  author. 
Library  I2mo,  cloth,  decorative  cover          ....    $1.50 
"  Full  of  ozone,  of  snap,  of  ginger,  of  swing  and  momentum."  — 
Chicago  Evening  Post. 

At  Home  with  the  Jardines 

A  companion  volume  to  "  Abroad  with  the  Jimmies." 

Library  1 2mo,  cloth,  decorative  cover $1.50 

"  Bits  of  gay  humor,  sunny,  whimsical  philosophy,  and  keen  in- 
dubitable insight  into  the  less  evident  aspects  and  workings  of  pure 
human  nature,  with  a  slender  thread  of  a  cleverly  extraneous  love 
story,  keep  the  interest  of  the  reader  fresh."—  Chicago  Record- 
Herald. 


LIST  OF  FICTION 


The  Interference  of  Patricia 

With  a  frontispiece  from  drawing  by  Frank  T.  Merrill. 

Small  1 2m o,  cloth,  decorative  cover fl'^5 

"  There  is  life  and  action  and  brilliancy  and  dash  and  cleverness 
and  a  keen  appreciation  of  business  ways  in  this  story." —  Grand 
Rapids  Herald. 

"  A  story  full  of  keen  and  flashing  satire."  —  Chicago  Record- 
Herald. 

A  Book  of  Girls 

With  a  frontispiece. 

Small  i2mo,  cloth,  decorative  cover $l-25 

"The  stories  are  all  eventful  and  have  effective  humor."  —  New    \ 
York  Sun. 

"  Lilian  Bell  surely  understands  girls,  for  she  depicts  all  the  varia- 
tions of  girl  nature  so  charmingly." —  Chicago  Journal. 

The  above  two  volumes  boxed  in  special  holiday  dress,  per  set,  $230 
WORKS  OF 

NATHAN  GALLIZIER 

The  Sorceress  of  Rome 

With  four  drawings  in  color  by  "  The  Kinneys." 

Cloth  decorative,  illustrated    ......        $1.50 

The  love-story  of  Otto  III.,  the  boy  emperor,  and  Stephania,  wife 
of  the  Senator  Crescentius  of  Rome,  has  already  been  made  the 
basis  of  various  German  poems  and  plays. 

Mr.  Gallizier  has  used  it  for  the  main  theme  of  "  The  Sorceress 
of  Rome,"  the  second  book  of  his  trilogy  of  romances  on  the  me- 
diaeval life  of  Italy.  In  detail  and  finish  the  book  is  a  brilliant  piece 
of  work,  describing  clearly  an  exciting  and  strenuous  period. 

Castel  del  Monte 

With  six  illustrations  by  H.  C.  Edwards. 

Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative         .         .         .        .         .        $i.  50 

A  powerful  romance  of  the  fall  of  the  Hohenstaufen  dynasty  in 
Italy  and  the  overthrow  of  Manfred  by  Charles  of  Anjou,  the  cham- 
pion of  Pope  Clement  IV. 

"  There  is  color  ;  there  is  sumptuous  word  painting  in  these  pages ; 
the  action  is  terrific  at  timas ;  vividness  and  life  are  in  every  part ;  and 
brilliant  descriptions  entertain  the  reader  and  give  a  singular  fasci- 
nation to  the  tale."  -~-  Chicago  Record-Herald. 


L.  C.  PAGE   fr    COMPANY'S 


WORKS  OF 

MORLEY  ROBERTS 

Rachel  Marr 

Library  1 2mo,  cloth  decorative $1.50 

"A  novel  of  tremendous  force,  with  a  style  that  is  sure,  luxuriant, 

compelling,  full  of  color  and  vital  force."  —  Elia   W.  Peattie>  in 

Chicago  Tribune. 
"  In  atmosphere,  if  nothing  else,  the  story  is  absolutely  perfect." 

—  Boston  Transcript. 

Lady  Penelope 

With  nine  illustrations  by  Arthur  W.  Brown. 

Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative $1-50 

"A  fresh  and  original  bit  of  comedy  as  amusing  as  it  is  auda- 
cious." —  Boston  Transcript. 

The  Idlers 

With  frontispiece  in  color  by  John  C.  Frohn. 

Library  1 2mo,  cloth  decorative $1.50 

"  It  is  as  absorbing  as  the  devil.     Mr.  Roberts  gives  us  the  antithe- 
sis of  '  Rachel  Marr '  in  an  equally  masterful  and  convincing  work." 

—  The  New  York  Sun. 

"It  is  a  work  of  great  ethical  force."  —  Professor  Charles  G.  D. 
Roberts. 

The  Promotion  of  the  Adm  iral 

Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  illustrated        .         .         .        $1.50 
"  If  any  one  writes  better  sea  stories  than  Mr.  Roberts,  we  don't 

know  who  it  is  ;  and  if  there  is  a  better  sea  story  of  its  kind  than 

this  it  would  be  a  joy  to  have  the  pleasure  of  reading  it."  —  New 

York  Sun. 
"  There  is  a  hearty  laugh  in  every  one  of  these  stories." —  The 

Reader. 

The  Flying  Cloud 

Cloth  decorative,  with  a  colored  frontispiece  .  .  .  $1.50 
When  "The  Flying  Cloud,"  was  published,  the  New  York  Times 
Saturday  Review  said:  "It  is  the  drama  of  the  sea:  human  nature 
stripped  naked  by  salt  water  alchemy  and  painted  as  only  the  author 
or  Joseph  Conrad  could  paint  it.  ...  A  corking  story,  a  ripping  good 
story  1 " 


LIST  OF  FICTIOM 


WORKS  OF 

ALICE  MacGOWAN  AND  GRACE  Mac- 
GOWAN  COOKE 

Return 

A  STORY  OF  THE  SEA  ISLANDS  IN  1739.  With  six  illustrations 

by  C.  D.  Williams. 

Library  I2mo,  cloth $1.50 

"  So  rich  in  color  is  this  story,  so  crowded  with  figures,  it  seems 
like  a  bit  of  old  Italian  wall  painting,  a  piece  of  modern  tapestry, 
rather  than  a  modern  fabric  woven  deftly  from  the  threads  of  fact 
and  fancy  gathered  up  in  this  new  and  essentially  practical  country, 
and  therein  lies  its  distinctive  value  and  excellence." — N.  Y.  Sun. 

The  Grapple 

With  frontispiece  in  color  by  Arthur  W.  Brown. 

Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative $1.50 

"  The  movement  of  the  tale  is  swift  and  dramatic.  The  story  is 
so  original,  so  strong,  and  so  finely  told  that  it  deserves  a  large  and 
thoughtful  public.  It  is  a  book  to  read  with  both  enjoyment  and 
enlightenment."  —  N.  Y.  Times  Saturday  Review  of  Books. 

The  Last  Word 

Illustrated  with  seven  portraits  of  the  heroine. 

Library  1 2mo,  cloth,  decorative  cover $1-50 

"  When  one  receives  full  measure  to  overflowing  of  delight  in  a 
tender,  charming,  and  wholly  fascinating  new  piece  of  fiction,  the 
enthusiasm  is  apt  to  come  uppermost."  —  Louisville  Post. 

Huldah 

With  illustrations  by  Fanny  Y.  Cory,, 

Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative $1-50 

Here  we  have  the  great-hearted,  capable  woman  of  the  Texas 
plains  dispensing  food  and  genial  philosophy  to  rough-and-ready 
cowboys.  Her  sympathy  takes  the  form  of  happy  laughter,  and 
her  delightfully  funny  phrases  amuse  the  fancy  and  stick  in  one's 
memory. 

Richard  Elliott,  Financier 

By  GEORGE  CARLING. 

Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  illustrated          .        .        •    $i-5° 
"  Clever  in  plot  and  effective  in  style.     The  author  has  seized  on 
some  of  the  most  sensational  features  of  modern  finance  and  uses 
them  pretty  much  as  Alexandre  Dumas  did."  —  N.  Y.  Post. 


io  L.  C.  PAGE  &   COMPANY'S 

WORKS  OF 

G.  SIDNEY  PATERNOSTER 

The  Motor  Pirate 

Library  1 2mo,  cloth  decorative,  with  frontispiece       .         .    $1.50 
41  Its  originality,  exciting  adventures,  into  which  is  woven  a  charm- 
ing love    theme,   and   its   undercurrent   of  fun   furnish   a  dashing 
detective  story  which  a   motor-mad  world   will  thoroughly  enjoy 
reading. "  —  Boston  Herald. 

The  Cruise  of  the  Motor-Boat  Conqueror 

Being  the  Further  Adventures  of  the  Motor  Pirate. 

Library  121110,  cloth  decorative,  with  a  frontispiece  by  Frank  T. 

Merrill $1.50 

"  As  a  land  pirate  Mannering  was  a  marvel  of  resource,  but  as  a 
sea-going  buccaneer  he  is  almost  a  miracle  of  devilish  ingenuity. 
His  exploits  are  wonderful  and  plausible,  for  he  avails  himself  of 
every  modern  device  and  applies  recent  inventions  to  the  accomplish- 
ment of  all  his  pet  schemes."  —  Chicago  Evening  Post. 

The  Lady  of  the  Blue  Motor 

Cloth  decorative,  with  a  colored  frontispiece  by  John  C.  Frohn  $1.50 
The  Lady  of  the  Blue  Motor  is  an  audacious  heroine  who  drove 
her  mysterious  car  at  breakneck  speed.  Her  plea  for  assistance  in 
an  adventure  promising  more  than  a  spice  of  danger  could  not  of 
course  be  disregarded  by  any  gallant  fellow  motorist.  Across  France 
they  tore  and  across  the  English  Channel.  There,  the  escapade  past, 
he  lost  her.  Mr.  Paternoster,  however,  allows  the  reader  to  follow 
their  separate  adventures  until  the  Lady  of  the  Blue  Motor  is  found 
again  and  properly  vindicated  of  all  save  womanly  courage  and  affec- 
tion. A  unique  romance,  one  continuous  exciting  series  of  adven- 
ture. 


The  Treasure  Trail.    By  FRANK  L.  POLLOCK. 

Library  1 2mo,  cloth  decorative,  with  a  frontispiece  by  Louis  D. 

Gowing .         „         $1.25 

"  A  clever  story,  which  describes  a  series  of  highly  exciting  adven- 
tures of  a  bold  lot  of  rascals." — Boston  Transcript. 


